8: Memories
by funnygirl00
Summary: Tammy and Sherlock, are a great couple and this is a collection of some of their moments together and it will include alternative scenes. What if Tammy and Sherlock had met in a different manner? What if Sherlock knew that Tammy was pregnant before he jumped off the roof? What if YOU could change something in their lives? What would it be?
1. Alternate Meeting Pt 1

**This is another part of my Sherlock series. It will explore alternate scenarios and deleted scenes with Sherlock and Tammy. If there was ever something that you wanted to see happy between them, now is your chance to have it happen!**

**Now, to those who have just discovered this series, be aware, that Tammy and Sherlock's story is already completed. This is like a Bonus for the people who loved my series. Now, I do suggest reading the previous series so this makes sense. But, it's not mandatory, but if it jumps around a bit, there's a reason for it.**

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**As always, I own nobody except for Tammy, Linda, Sherlock Jr., Alexander, Scott, John, and William. **

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Alternate Meeting Pt. 1

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I smile as I gaze around the flat; the smell of fresh green paint fills the air. I turn towards Mrs. Hudson and nod. "Yes, this will do perfectly."

"I'm glad you like it my dear." She's a kind, sweet, older lady and I liked her the moment I met her. "I hope you'll be happy." A knock on the door causes us to turn towards the stairs and head down towards the main entrance. "Now, that will be either the men with your furniture or it'll be my two other boarders. Sherlock Holmes and….I actually don't know who else he's bringing."

I frown. "Who'd name their child Sherlock? A curious name."

Mrs. Hudson nods. "I know, but he's a curious man. He's a detective; he helped ensure that my husband was convicted for murder. No one could find any evidence, but Sherlock did. He's a good man."

I tried not to be completely baffled as to why a sweet woman like Mrs. Hudson would claim a man who helped convict her husband to be a good man. But there was a story in there somewhere, but I couldn't ask her. Maybe her husband was a rotten man and that's why it made it easy for her. After all, hadn't I just hadn't I flown all the way to England to avoid a man?

Robert, my fiancé. Frankly, I don't know what I saw in him. Maybe I was just so desperate to find love that I hadn't stopped and looked at the man. But then I walked into his office and found him making love to Cynthia, my best friend, on his desk. I wasn't prone to dramatics, but I threw my ring at him, had my lawyer ask around for a good flat in London and he'd found Mrs. Hudson. Robert would need a detective if he was going to find me, but I doubted that he'd be able to do that. I'd sworn off love, romance and men forever.

Mrs. Hudson opens the front door and I stay a few steps behind her. From what I can see behind her, there are two young men, her boarders, not the men with my furniture. She obviously knows the younger man, as she steps forward and hugs him. "Sherlock, hello."

Sherlock hugs her back briefly, and then steps back to present the other man to her. "Mrs. Hudson, Doctor John Watson."

Mrs. Hudson cheerfully acknowledges him. "Hello."

"How do?" He sounds a little uneasy about this whole thing.

Mrs. Hudson gestures Sherlock and John inside. "Come in."

"Thank you." John says graciously.

"Shall we?" Sherlock sounds slightly bored and impatient.

"Yeah." The men go inside and Mrs. Hudson closes the door behind them.

Sherlock steps into the hall and I'm able to get a good look at the two men. Sherlock, he's got an unusual face, not at all attractive, too thin for my tastes. His cheekbones are very prominent in his face. He turns and looks towards me, his eyes running all over every inch of me and I'd be lying if I said that I wasn't uncomfortable. I casually cross my arms around my waist, but that still doesn't deter his gaze.

Mrs. Hudson speaks up. "Sherlock, John, this is Tammy Taylor, she just moved above the flat you two are looking at."

I smile and step forward, holding my hand out to Sherlock. "Nice to meet you." He glances at my hand for a moment before taking it and shaking it firmly. There's a small burst of static when we touch and his gaze narrows as the looks at my hand, as if trying to figure out where the static came from. I look up at him and ask. "What?"

He doesn't respond. Sherlock trots up the stairs to the first floor, then pauses and waits for John to follow him upstairs. However, John steps towards me. I notice he's got a slight limp. He's a nice looking older man, with a kind face and a gentle voice. He smiles at me and extends his hand. "John Watson. Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you."

Mrs. Hudson moves up the stairs and John and I follow her. John glances casually at me. "So…you're an American?"

"Yes. Is my accent that obvious?"

"Very." Sherlock said over the rail before disappearing. "As obvious as it is that you've run away to avoid an unhappy love affair."

I stared up in the direction he'd gone glanced at John. "How did he know that?"

"I don't know. I just met him today. He's kinda….unusual."

"That's one way of putting it, he gives me the creeps."

When John and I reached the top of the stairs, Sherlock opened the door ahead of him and walked into the flat. John and I followed him in the flat, I stopped in the doorway the sight of the various items, and boxes scattered around the room. It's a mess.

John is eyeing it dubiously; as was I, my flat had been cleaned and not loaded down with a ton of junk. "Well, this could be very nice. Very nice indeed."

"Yes, I think so. My thoughts precisely." Sherlock looks around the flat; he appears to be quite happy with the messy flat. "So I went straight ahead and moved in."

But John was speaking at the same time Sherlock was and his message was a different one. "Soon as we get all this rubbish cleaned out." His voice dies and he pauses as he realized what Sherlock was saying. "So this is all-

Sherlock looks a little bit embarrassed about the mess. "Well, obviously I can, um, straighten things up a bit." He begins to make a half-hearted attempt to tidy up the room. However, his idea of straightening things up is throwing items into boxes and placing items on the mantle piece. He then stabs tool knife into a bunch of envelopes on the mantelpiece, right next to a human skull. In spite of myself, I can't help but be morbidly interested in this man. After all, he's unlike anyone I've ever known before.

John has noticed the skull and he lifts his cane to point at it. "That's a skull."

"Friend of mine. When I say 'friend." Sherlock's voice dies and he mutters something under his breath.

Mrs. Hudson comes into the room, picking up a cup and saucer as Sherlock takes off his coat and scarf. "What do you think, then, Doctor Watson? There's another bedroom upstairs if you'll be needing two bedrooms."

John almost looks insulted, but he's defiantly surprised. "Of course we'll be needing two."

"Oh, don't worry; there's all sorts round here." She whispers. "Mrs. Turner next door's got married ones." John looks to Sherlock, expecting him to confirm that he and John are not a couple. But Sherlock is oblivious and in his own little world. Mrs. Hudson enters the kitchen before turning to frown at Sherlock, scolding him lightly. "Oh, Sherlock. The mess you've made." He glances in her direction, but doesn't comment. I enter the kitchen and begin to help her straighten up somewhat. "Thank you Tammy dear."

"No trouble. I'm happy to help."

John walks over to one of the two armchairs and drops heavily down into it. He looks across to Sherlock who is still tidying up a little. I shake my head, pick up a dirty teacup, and move it into the sink, finding it full of papers. I shake my head and begin pulling the papers out.

"I looked you up on the internet last night." John says.

_That _caught Sherlock's attention. "Anything interesting?"

"Found your website," John says slowly. "The Science of Deduction."

"What did you think?" Sherlock sounds very prideful of his website and that wouldn't surprise me.

John throws him a disbelieving look and Sherlock looks slightly hurt by John's deduction. "You said you could identify a software designer by his tie and an airline pilot by his left thumb."

At that point, I turn around and look towards him, definitely curious. "Really?"

Sherlock gives me a curt nod. "Yes," he turns to John. "and I can read your military career in your face and your leg, and your brother's drinking habits in your mobile phone."

"How?" John asks.

Sherlock simply smiles secretly and turns away. I'm almost tempted to ask how he know about my unfortunate relationship with Robert, but I decided not to give him the satisfaction of letting him know that I was curious. Mrs. Hudson comes out of the kitchen reading the newspaper. "What about these suicides then, Sherlock? I thought that'd be right up your street."

I frown and ask. "Suicides?"

She nods and hands me the paper. "Three, exactly the same."

I frown as I begin reading the paper. "Then they can't be suicides, unless the victims know each other. Three people can't commit the same suicide together."

"Four." I look up from the paper to see Sherlock looking out of the window down into the street. "There's been a fourth. And there's something different this time."

Mrs. Hudson asks in confusion. "A fourth?"

"Murder." I fill in for her. "I'm assuming, though, I've no idea how he'd know that."

A man runs up the stairs and comes into the living room. He's an older man, with very pleasant features. Sherlock obviously knows him and his connections to the case for he asks. "Where?"

"Brixton," he says as he tries to catch his breath. "Lauriston Gardens."

"What's new about this one?" Sherlock attempts to act disinterested, but I can sense that he is dying to know more. "You wouldn't have come to get me if there wasn't something different."

"You know how they never leave notes?"

Sherlock nods. "Yeah."

"This one did. Will you come?"

Sherlock hesitates for a second before asking. "Who's on forensics?"

The man hesitates before saying. "It's Anderson."

Sherlock immediately grimaces and turns aside. "Anderson won't work with me."

"Well, he won't be your assistant."

"I _need_an assistant."

Frankly, considering how he's recently bragged to John about how he can identify a pilot by his thumb, he must be brilliant, so why need an assistant? The man insists. "Will you come?"

Sherlock attempts to sound disinterested. "Not in a police car." He shrugs and looks back out the window, his hands still buried deep in his pockets. "I'll be right behind."

"Thank you." the man turns and hurries off down the stairs.

Sherlock waits until he has reached the front door, then leaps into the air and clenches his fists triumphantly before jumping around the room shouting in glee. "Brilliant!" I jump slightly in surprise and stare at the man who's virtually delighted about someone's death. "Yes! Ah, four serial suicides, and now a note! Oh, it's Christmas!" My mouth falls open as I watch him pick up his scarf and coat as he heads for the kitchen. "Mrs. Hudson, I'll be late. Might need some food."

"I'm your landlady, dear," she reminds him. "not your housekeeper."

He ignores her. "Something cold will do. John, have a cup of tea, make yourself at home. Don't wait up and get that American out of our flat!" Grabbing a small leather pouch from the kitchen table, he opens the kitchen door and disappears from view.

I shake my head and stare at that man in confusion. "He…is….bonkers!"


	2. Alternate Meeting Pt 2

Chapter two: Alternate Meeting Pt. 2

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"Look at him, dashing about!" I shake my head in dismay, wondering why she's so pleased with his ridiculous antics. "My husband was just the same." John grimaces and shakes his head. "But you're more the sitting-down type, I can tell." Poor John looks uncomfortable. "I'll make you that cuppa. You rest your leg."

John suddenly shouts very loudly. "Damn my leg!" Mrs. Hudson and I both jump and stare at John in shock. John is immediately apologetic to both of us. "Sorry, I'm so sorry. It's just sometimes this bloody thing-

Mrs. Hudson nods. "I understand, dear; I've got a hip." She turns towards the door again.

"Cup of tea would be lovely," John says. "thank you."

"Just this once, dear. I'm not your housekeeper."

"Couple of biscuits too," John says as he picks up the newspaper I must have dropped in my shock at Sherlock's display. "if you've got them."

Mrs. Hudson repeats. "Not your housekeeper!"

I lean over John's shoulder and glance at the newspaper, he's reading about the suicides. Next to a large photograph of a woman, is a smaller one showing the man who just visited the flat and identifying him as D.I. Lestrade. Before we can read on, Sherlock's voice breaks through our thoughts.

"You're a doctor." We look up to see him standing in the living room doorway. "In fact you're an Army doctor."

"Yes." John stands on his feet as Sherlock approaches us.

"Any good?" Sherlock is studying John closely, obviously seeing if he'll be a suitable assistant for him.

"Very good." John states emphatically.

Sherlock approaches him slowly. "Seen a lot of injuries, then; violent deaths?"

John nods. "Mmm, yes."

"Bit of trouble too, I bet?"

"Of course, yes." John says quietly. "Enough for a lifetime, far too much."

Sherlock hesitates a moment before asking. "Wanna see some more?"

I wasn't surprised at the fervent tone in John's voice. "Oh God, yes!"

Sherlock spins on his heel and leads John out of the room. I shake my head John follows Sherlock down the stairs, in spite of myself, I follow them down. John calls to Mrs. Hudson. "Sorry, Mrs. Hudson, I'll skip the tea. Off out."

We find her standing near the bottom of the stairs. She frowns in curiosity. "All three of you?"

Sherlock has almost reached the front door but turns and walks back towards her, his coat flapping behind him. "Impossible suicides?" The glee in his voice is almost contagious. "Four of them? There's no point sitting at home when there's finally something fun going on!"

He takes her by the shoulders and kisses her noisily on the cheek. She shakes her head slightly. "Look at you, all happy. It's not decent." However, she can't help but smile at him as he turns away.

"Who cares about decent? The game, Mrs. Hudson, is on!" but he stops suddenly and turns around to frown at us. "What do you mean to three of you?" he glances at me and his eyebrows shoot up. "_You're _not coming."

"Why not?"

"Because you'd be of no use to me."

"And how would you know that?" I demand placing my hands on my hips. "Pardon me to use your own words against you Mr. Holmes. But as you said, There's no point in staying home when there's something fun going!" His brows shoot up, surprised that I quoted him back word for word. He opens his mouth for an argument, but I cut him off. "If you don't want people to get interested, then stop making it so bloody interesting for people!"

I head to the closet and open it up, reaching for my coat and scarf. "Now, you just wait a minute-

"Oh shut up and go hail a cab!" I turn around and face him as I pull my coat on. He's staring at me as if I'm some sort of creature from another planet. "Go on!"

He looks as if he's fighting the idea to hit me in the back of his mind, but he does step out and hail a cab. Everyone holds their breath and listens as he calls a taxi. Mrs. Hudson shakes her head. "Oh dear. You two are not going to be very friendly neighbors are you?"

I shake my head. "I'm afraid not Mrs. Hudson, but you never know, things can happen in the future and maybe we'll come to some sort of a peace treaty."

John chuckles and we both walk out to see Sherlock get into a taxi. John lets me climb in next to Sherlock, before getting in himself. Sherlock makes a face at me, which I return before crawling into the seat opposite the two men.

The taxi drives off, heading for Brixton. Sherlock immediately buries himself in his Smartphone and I roll my eyes. I _hate _it when people just pull out their phone and start blogging or immerse themselves in their phone. The silence is stifling in the cab, I wished I could think of something to say, but I didn't have a single thought that wouldn't sound completely stupid.

John and I keep sneaking glances at Sherlock until he finally lowers his phone. He's noted how we're both curious. "Okay, you've both got questions."

"Yeah," John asks. "where are we going?"

"Crime scene." He sounds so disinterested. "Next?"

"Who are you?" John asks. "What do you do?"

"What do you think?"

John speaks slowly. "I'd say private detective ...

"But?"

"But the police don't go to private detectives."

Sherlock seems pleased to note that John is very observant. "I'm a consulting detective." I frown. "Only one in the world."

"Did you invent the job?" I ask him.

He glowers. "Yes." He runs his eyes over me. "And how was your flight from New York City yesterday? You didn't eat anything on the flight."

I open my mouth to shoot off another smart comment, but John cuts me off with a question of his own. "What does that mean?"

"It means when the police are out of their depth, which is _always_, they consult me."

John chuckles and grins. "The police don't consult amateurs."

Sherlock throws him a look, letting me know that he's slightly insulted, so he's about to prove that he isn't an amateur. "When I met you for the first time yesterday, I said, "Afghanistan or Iraq?" You looked surprised."

"Yes," John nods. "how did you know?"

"I didn't know, I saw." I frown at those odd words. "Your haircut, the way you hold yourself says military. However, your conversation as you entered the room said trained at Bart's, so Army doctor, obvious. Your face is tanned but no tan above the wrists. You've been abroad, but not sunbathing." I frown in an attempt to avoid looking impressed, but something informs me he's nowhere being done with his deduction. "Your limp's really bad when you walk but you don't ask for a chair when you stand, like you've forgotten about it, so it's at least partly psychosomatic. That says the original circumstances of the injury were traumatic. Wounded in action, then. Wounded in action, suntan, Afghanistan or Iraq." He loudly clicks the 'k' sound at the end of Iraq.

John frowns at him. "You said I had a therapist."

"You've got a psychosomatic limp," Sherlock and I say in unison. "of course you've got a therapist."

He glowers at me and I shrug. "Sorry."

He continues with his deductions. "Then there's your brother." He holds his hand out to John. "Your phone. It's expensive, e-mail enabled, MP3 player, but you're looking for a flat share, you wouldn't waste money on this. It's a gift, then." John hands Sherlock his phone. I lean forward as Sherlock looks at the phone as he talks. "Scratches, not one, many over time. It's been in the same pocket as keys and coins. The man sitting next to me wouldn't treat his one luxury item like this, so it's had a previous owner. Next bit's easy. You know it already."

"The engraving?" John asks. I see that engraved on the back of the phone are the words _Harry Watson. From Clara. Xxx_

Harry Watson: clearly a family member who's given you his old phone. Not your father, this is a young man's gadget." Sherlock shrugs a little. "Could be a cousin, but you're a war hero who can't find a place to live. Unlikely you've got an extended family, certainly not one you're close to, so brother it is. Now, Clara. Who's Clara? Three kisses says it's a romantic attachment. The expense of the phone says wife, not girlfriend." At this point Sherlock has completely blown me away. "She must have given it to him recently, this model's only six months old. Marriage in trouble then, six months on he's just given it away. If she'd left him, he would have kept it. People do sentiment. But no, he wanted rid of it. He left her. He gave the phone to you: that says he wants you to stay in touch. You're looking for cheap accommodation, but you're not going to your brother for help: that says you've got problems with him. Maybe you liked his wife; maybe you don't like his drinking."

John is stunned. "How…. can you possibly know about the drinking?"

He smirks slightly. "Shot in the dark. Good one, though. Power connection: tiny little scuff marks around the edge of it. Every night he goes to plug it in to charge but his hands are shaking. You never see those marks on a sober man's phone; never see a drunk's without them." He hands the phone back. "There you go, you see, you were right."

"I was right? Right about what?"

"The police don't consult amateurs." Sherlock and I respond in unison again.

He glowers at me. "Will you stop doing that?" He then looks out of the side window, biting his lip nervously as he awaits John's reaction. I roll my eyes.

"That ... was amazing."

Sherlock looks round, so surprised that he can't even reply for the next four seconds. "Do you think so?"

"Of course it was. It was extraordinary; it was quite extraordinary."

"That's not what people normally say."

"What do people normally say?"

Sherlock drops an expletive and I shoot him a glare. He glances at me and I hold his gaze. "You were born and raised here in London for a good portion of your life. You have an American accent, but when you speak certain words, your British accent becomes transparent." He stated, speaking swiftly without blinking. "Judging by the sticker on your clutch, you arrived here yesterday morning. You lived in New York City for five years before returning here." I don't know what kept me from smacking his face as he continued speaking. "Judging by how you are determined to move everything you own into Mrs. Hudson's flat, you were planning on moving back to London for sometime, but something held you there. You're an excessive reader; it's a wonder you don't need glasses by now. You must have known the owner of the nightclub you're working at; otherwise you wouldn't have given up your job in a wine factory. Maybe you hated your job or maybe you decided to have a taste of something different. Your clothes are the latest fashion in America; your job paid well, anyone can see you have expensive taste." He glanced down at my hand. "You recently broke off your engagement to your fiancée, he was cheating on you. However, you must not have been deeply in love with him, because you don't show any signs of actually missing him, like checking your phone, hoping for some word from him. You decided to make whole new life for yourself."

I inhaled and pause, contemplating my words before speaking. "Well, you already know everything about me, so I better make a good question, that'll stump you."

He leans forward. "I'm all ears."

I lean forward and smirk as the taxi comes to a stop. "What color underwear am I wearing?" the look on his face is priceless. I open the taxi door and climb out. "I make a better question than you can come up with an answer!"

Sherlock blinks rapidly as I stand up and get out of the taxi. He mutters to John. "I don't like her."

John chuckles. "I think she's spunky."

"That's _one _word for her, but I don't agree with you."

"The feeling is mutual Mr. Holmes, but as we happen to be tenants in the same building," he gets out of the taxi and glowers down at me. "I suggest we make the best of it."


	3. Alternate Meeting Pt 3

Chapter three: Alternate Meeting Pt. 3

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Sherlock shoots me a glower and he and John get out and walk towards the police tape. I groan as I reach in and pay the taxi driver.

"Did I get anything wrong?" Sherlock asks John.

John pauses for a moment before responding. "Harry and me don't get on, never have. Clara and Harry split up three months ago and they're getting a divorce." Sherlock is just starting to smirk. "Harry is a drinker.

"Spot on, then." Sherlock looks very pleased with himself. "I didn't expect to be right about everything."

Then John adds. "And Harry's short for Harriet."

Sherlock stops dead in his tracks, his face frozen. "Harry's your sister?" I cannot help but giggle behind my hand at the look on his face.

John continues walking forward while Sherlock mentally kicks himself for missing something. "Look, what exactly am I supposed to be doing here?"

"Sister!" Sherlock spits out furiously, through gritted teeth, causing me to laugh louder at him.

"No, seriously," John repeats. "what am I doing here?"

Sherlock walks away, exasperation ringing in his voice. "There's always something."

As we approach the police tape where a serious faced, female officer meets us. She looks at Sherlock as if he's dirt under her feet. "Hello, freak."

Sherlock says nothing and frankly, I'm surprised at how she just insulted him like that to his face. He's brilliant, but I'll never say that, true, he's rude, but that's _no _reason to call him a freak. "I'm here to see Detective Inspector Lestrade." Sherlock replies to her by looking over her head.

"Why?"

He looks pointedly at her. "I was invited."

She looks up her nose at him. "Why?"

Sherlock doesn't even bother to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. "I think he wants me to take a look."

"Well, you know what I think, don't you?"

He lifts the tape and ducks under it. "Always, Sally." He inhales deeply through his nose. "I even know you didn't make it home last night."

"I don't," I duck under the tape and she looks at John. "Er, who's this?" her eyes widen as she looks at me. "And who's this?"

"Colleague of mine, Doctor Watson." He turns to John. "Doctor Watson, Sergeant Sally Donovan." His voice is just dripping with sarcasm. "Old friend."

"A colleague? How do you get a colleague?!" She turns to John. "What, did he follow you home?" she looks at me. "And what are you? His girlfriend?"

I am shocked and I snap at her. "Certainly not! I wouldn't be caught dead with him!"

John spoke up, wanting to calm everyone down. "Would it be better if I just waited and-

Sherlock lifted up the tape. "No. does try to follow Tammy's curious nature."

As John walks under the tape, Donovan lifts a radio to her mouth. "Freak's here, bringing him in."

"Exasperated, I can't help but snipe to her. "If your mother passed away, when you're young, I'm sorry, but didn't she ever discipline you about calling people names?"

She looks at me in surprise. "Excuse me?"

"No! You should be asking his pardon. He is a human being you know!"

She snorted and rolls her eyes at me. "You ain't known him long have you?"

I open my mouth to defend him again; frankly, I don't know why I am, when I feel a hand on my shoulder. It's Sherlock's hand, and he quickly removes it when I glance at her. "Don't bother; nothing sinks into that head of hers."

"I don't…like her." I bite out.

Sherlock smirks. "Then, Miss Taylor, we may have found one thing in common after all."

As we approach the house, Sherlock looks all around the area and at the ground. Even pausing occasionally to examine the ground. He doesn't care that he looks ridiculous at times, but that shows that he's dedicated to his work and not focused on anyone's thoughts or opinions. A man dressed in a coverall comes out of the house.

"Ah, Anderson," I can tell by Sherlock's voice that this is another person who he doesn't like. I wager he prefers taunting this man. "here we are again."

Anderson looks at him with distaste, as if Sherlock were a bug that was about to get squashed. "It's a crime scene. I don't want it contaminated." Anderson addressed Sherlock as if he were addressing a child. "Are we clear on that?"

"Quite clear." Sherlock takes in another deep breath before asking Anderson. "And is your wife away for long?

Anderson scowled at him. "Oh, don't pretend you worked that out. Somebody told you that."

"No one spoke to us." I spoke up, instantly regretting it, for the man turned his cold-blooded gaze to me. "He _did _just figure it out. Honestly! Is everyone so rude here in London or is it because I'm with you?"

Sherlock muttered. "Because you're with me." He then addressed Anderson. "Your deodorant told me that."

Anderson frowned. "My deodorant?"

Sherlock smirks at Anderson with a quirky expression on his face. "It's for men."

Anderson now begins to wonder if Sherlock's lost his mind. "Well, of course it's for men! _I'm_wearing it!"

"So is Sergeant Donovan." Anderson looks at Donovan as Sherlock sniffs loudly. "Ooh and I think it just vaporized." I begin laughing. "May I go in?"

Anderson now begins to mount a poor defense of his innocence. "Now look: whatever you're trying to imply-

"I'm not implying anything." He moves past Anderson towards the front door and I follow him. "I'm sure Sally came round for a nice little chat, and just _happened_ to stay over." He turns back and smiles slightly at Anderson. "And I assume she scrubbed your floors, going by the state of her knees."

Anderson and Donovan stare at him in horror as their whole affair is brought into the light. He smiles smugly, then turns and goes into the house. I shake my head. "You are bonkers …but bloody brilliant at once."

He shakes his head. "No don't do that. Not with your American accent. You sound terrible."

"Thanks…jerk."

He glowers at me as I follow him into a room on the ground floor where I find Lestrade putting on coveralls. Sherlock points to a pile of similar items. "You two need to wear one of these."

"Who are they?"

Sherlock avoids eye contact as he begins taking off his gloves. "They're with me."

"Yeah," Lestrade says. "but who are they?"

"I said they're with me." Sherlock's tone informs Lestrade that's all he's going to reveal.

I clear my throat and smile at Lestrade. "I'm Tammy Taylor, Sherlock's neighbor." I can feel Sherlock's eyes boring into my back. "I'm basically along for the ride."

Sherlock snorts loudly as John picks up a coverall and he looks at Sherlock who has only picked up a pair of latex gloves. "Aren't you gonna put one on?"

Sherlock looks at John sternly before turning to Lestrade. "So where are we?"

Lestrade picks up another pair of latex gloves. "Upstairs." He hands one to me and I bob my head as I reach for the coveralls and begin to climb into one. "Here you go."

"Thank you." I step halfway into it and pause as I realize that I'm wearing a skirt. I frown and mutter. "How do I get into this?"

Sherlock groans. "Oh, for God's sake! Can't you even get dressed properl?"

He takes a step towards me and I jump. I grab a board from the table, not hesitating to point it at him. He looks surprised by my actions and then deduces what I deduced from his actions. "You…will stay away from me!"

He studies me carefully before stating calmly. "I was going to suggest that you step into the other room and put them on without causing every officer in the room to have a spike in his heart rate at the scene you'd display."

I hesitate and then set the board down. "Alright then." I step into the other room and carefully zipper up the coveralls, being careful not to catch the material in the zipper. I leave my handbag on the table and accept the white cotton coverings for my shoes that Lestrade hands to me. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it." Lestrade smiles kindly at me and I return his smile. He reminds me of my father. He even smells of the same coffee that my father used to drink. I follow the small group of men up the winding, circular stairs. I put on my latex gloves as we go up the stairs, I avoid Sherlock's probing gaze. "I can give you two minutes."

Sherlock casually points out how he doesn't like Lestrade's arrangement. "May need longer."

Lestrade ignores Sherlock's subtle order by relaying the information. "Her name's Jennifer Wilson according to her credit cards. We're running them now for contact details. Hasn't been here long. Some kids found her."

He leads us into a room two stories above the ground floor. I should feel slightly squeamish about seeing a dead body for the first time in my life, in fact, my pulse skyrockets as we near the open door. Lestrade enters, I follow Sherlock, and John follows me. The room is empty of furniture except for a woman's body. She is lying face down on the floor in the middle of the room. The first thing I notice is how she is dressed completely in bright pink; everything is the _exact _shade of pink. Her coat, her heels and even her nails are painted the same color.

Sherlock walks a few steps into the room and then stops as he focuses on the corpse. All four of us stand there in respectful silence for this poor woman.

"Shut up." I jump and look at Sherlock who is looking at Greg and me.

I can only give him an outraged look. However, Lestrade is indignant enough to actually respond to him. "I didn't say anything."

"You were thinking." He says pointedly. "It's annoying."

I mutter loud enough for him to hear it. "Yeah, I know exactly what you mean."

If Sherlock noted that I had given him a subtle insult, it didn't sink in. because already, he was focusing on the woman's' corpse. I exhaled and crossed my arms as I watched Sherlock Holmes put his skills to work.


	4. Alternate Meeting Pt 4

Chapter four: Alternate Meeting Pt. 4

* * *

Sherlock walks towards the corpse and I take a few steps to the side behind him. He looks down at something on the floorboards, and I step a little closer to see that the poor woman had scratched the word rache into the floorboards. Judging by the broken nails, she'd done so when she was dying and was unable to finish the word Rachel. Off the top of my head, I couldn't think of what other word it could be. I then move to the other side of Lestrade so I can get a better view of what he's doing.

Sherlock kneels beside the body and runs his gloved hand along the back of her coat, then looks at his fingers, rubbing them together. He reaches into her coat pockets, pulls out a white folding umbrella, repeats his previous actions and then returns the umbrella to her pocket. He then inspects the collar of her coat and again looks at his fingers. He then reaches into his pocket he takes out a small magnifier, opens it and begins to inspect the bracelet on her wrist, her earrings and the necklace. But he's fascinated by the rings on her ring finger.

He works the wedding ring off her finger and holds it up to look inside of the ring, for some reason only to slide it back onto her finger. I watch as he smiles in satisfaction, obviously licking what he's deduced.

"Got anything?"

Sherlock pulls of his glove and says rather nonchalantly. "Not much."

I shake my head and mutter. "He's such a liar." Standing up, he then pulls his cell phone from his pocket and begins typing on it. I shake my head in amusement. Again, he's on his phone.

"She's German." I turn around to see Anderson lounging against the door behind me. Sherlock begins approaching him, not looking up from his phone. "Rache,' it's German for 'revenge'."

I ask simply. "Couldn't she have been writing Rachel?"

"Not likely, she could be trying to tell us something-

Sherlock begins to close the door in Anderson's face; sarcasm is heavy in his voice. "Yes, thank you for your input." My mouth falls open in surprise, but a small laugh escapes from me as he slams the door shut.

I whisper to John in shock. "I can't believe he just did that."

"So she's German?" Lestrade asks.

Sherlock is still looking at his phone. "Of course she's not. She's from out of town, though, intended to stay in London for one night ... before returning home to Cardiff." He pockets his phone. "So far, so obvious."

"Sorry," John says in confusion as all three of us frown at him. "obvious?"

" What about the message," Lestrade asks. "though?"

Sherlock ignores him and addresses John. "Doctor Watson, what do you think?"

"Of the message?"

"Of the body. You're a medical man."

"Wait, no," Lestrade immediately begins shaking his head. "we have a whole team right outside."

Sherlock dismisses him. "They won't work with me." I groan. He is such a child it's unbelievable. But then no child ever thought on his level.

"I'm breaking every rule letting you in here." Lestrade points out.

Sherlock is undeterred by Lestrade's argument. "Yes ... because you need me."

Lestrade stares at him for a moment. "Yes, I do." Lestrade then addresses the floor. "God help me."

I groan and shake my head. "Oh, that wasn't necessary."

He ignores me and again addresses John. "Doctor Watson."

However, John is courteous enough to look to Lestrade, to silently ask his permission, before touching the body.

"Oh, do as he says. Help yourself." He turns and exits the room, as if having to bear the moment of two men, off the police force, helping them, would be too much for him. "Anderson, keep everyone out for a couple of minutes."

Sherlock and John walk over to the body. Sherlock kneel down on one side of it and John carefully lowers himself to one knee on the other side. Sherlock is impatient and giddy as a schoolboy, waiting for the fun to begin. I can tell that this whole thing is just fun for him. "Well?"

"What am I doing here?" John asks softly.

"Helping me make a point."

"I'm supposed to be helping you pay the rent."

"Yeah, well, this is more fun."

"Fun?" Their brief exchange of quick fire ends at Sherlock's poor choice on an adjective. "There's a woman lying dead."

Sherlock is silent for a second before replying rather blandly. "Perfectly sound analysis, but I was hoping you'd go deeper. "

Lestrade comes back into the room and John leans forward to look more closely at the woman's body. Sherlock begins to impatiently rub his hands, waiting for John's analysis. He puts his head close to hers and sniffs, then straightens a little before lifting her right hand and examining it. Sherlock begins rocking on his heels, his fingers folded up under his nose, rocking back and forth impatiently.

Then finally, John looks towards Sherlock. "Yeah ... Asphyxiation, probably. Passed out, choked on her own vomit. Can't smell any alcohol on her. It could have been a seizure; possibly drugs."

Sherlock immediately strikes that idea down. "You know what it was. You've read the papers."

"What, she's one of the suicides? The fourth?"

"Sherlock, Lestrade says firmly. "Two minutes, I said. I need anything you've got."

He standing up smoothly as John struggles to get to his feet. I'm almost tempted to help him, but I wasn't going to bruise his mail ego. "Victim is in her late thirties. Professional person, going by her clothes I'm guessing something in the media, going by the frankly alarming shade of pink." He looked at me. "Wouldn't you agree?" I nodded as he continued. "Travelled from Cardiff today, intending to stay in London for one night. It's obvious from the size of her suitcase."

"Suitcase?" at Lestrade's confusion, John and I automatically begin to look around the room but there isn't a suitcase anywhere.

"Suitcase, yes. She's been married at least ten years, but not happily. She's had a string of lovers but none of them knew she was married."

My mouth drops open in surprise. Lestrade sounds positively outraged thought. "Oh, for God's sake, if you're just making this up-

"Her wedding ring," Sherlock points down at it. "ten years old at least. The rest of her jewelry has been regularly cleaned, but not her wedding ring. State of her marriage right there. The inside of the ring is shinier than the outside that means it's regularly removed. The only polishing it gets is when she works it off her finger. It's not for work; look at her nails. She doesn't work with her hands, so what or rather who does she remove her rings for? Clearly not one lover; she'd never sustain the fiction of being single over that amount of time, so more likely a string of them. Simple."

"That's brilliant." John can't keep the admiration out his voice and I'm certain it's showing on my face. Sherlock gives him a slight glare and John is immediately apologetic. "Sorry."

"Cardiff?" Lestrade questions.

"It's obvious," Sherlock asks simply. "isn't it?"

John states the question for us. "It's not obvious to me."

Sherlock pauses as he looks at all of us. "Dear God," there's a dramatic note in his voice, whether or not it's intentional, I couldn't say. I'm somehow able to hide the smirk that wants to creep onto my lips. "what is it like in your funny little brains? It must be so boring." My smile vanishes and I glower at him as he turns back to the body. "Frankly, I can feel my knowledge draining away and stupidity settle in. "Her coat, it's slightly damp, she's been in heavy rain in the last few hours. No rain anywhere in London in that time. Under her coat collar, it's damp, too. She's turned it up against the wind. She's got an umbrella in her left-hand pocket but it's dry and unused. Not just wind, _strong_ wind, too strong to use her umbrella. We know from her suitcase that she was intending to stay overnight," again, he mentions suitcase so I glance around the room. Maybe someone took it, with those eyes of his, if there'd been a suitcase; he would have noticed it by now. "so she must have come a decent distance but she can't have travelled more than two or three hours because her coat still hasn't dried. So, where has there been heavy rain and strong wind within the radius of that travel time?" He gets his phone from his pocket and shows a webpage that reveals the weather for this portion of Britain. "Cardiff."

"That's fantastic!" John bursts out.

Sherlock mutters to John. "Do you know you do that out loud?"

"Sorry." John mutters. "I'll shut up."

"No, it's ... fine." He turns and glances at me. I hold his gaze as he frowns and asks me. "What are you doing? What's that face?"

I frown. "I can't see my own face. How should I know what it's doing?"

Lestrade speaks up, getting Sherlock's attention off me. "Why do you keep saying suitcase?"

Delighted to have a new subject, he spins around in a circle to look. "Yes, where is it? She must have had a phone or an organizer. Find out who Rachel is."

"She was writing Rachel?

Sherlock glowers sarcastically at him. "No, she was leaving an angry note in German! Of course, she was writing Rachel; no other word it can be. Question is: why did she wait until she was dying to write it?"

"How do you know she had a suitcase?"

I shake my head. "Don't ask, he just knows."

He points down to the body, where her tights have small black splotches on the lower part of her leg. "Back of the right leg: tiny splash marks on the heel and calf, not present on the left. She was dragging a wheeled suitcase behind her with her right hand. Don't get that splash pattern any other way. Smallish case, going by the spread. Case that size, woman this clothes-conscious: could only be an overnight bag, so we know she was staying one night."

I nod. "And, probably pink, judging by the matching ensemble, down to her shoes even."

"Correct." He squats down by her body and examines the backs of her legs more closely. "Now, where is it? What have you done with it?"

"There wasn't a case."

At Lestrade's words, Sherlock raises his head and frowns up at Lestrade. "Say that again."

"There wasn't a case." Sherlock stands up and moves towards the door. "There was never any suitcase."

"Suitcase! Did anyone find a suitcase?" Sherlock shouts loudly as he moves to go down the stairs. "Was there a suitcase in this house?"

Lestrade, John and I only follow Sherlock, John and Lestrade only go as far as the landing. Lestrade calls down to him. "Sherlock, there was no case!"

He stops on the landing for a moment to explain, I almost bump into him because he stops so fast. "They take the poison themselves; they chew, swallow the pills themselves." He begins to hurry down the stairs again. "There are clear signs, even you lot couldn't miss them."

"Right, yeah, thanks!" Lestrade mutters before shouting down the stairs. "And?"

"It's murder, all of them. I don't know how, but they're not suicides, they're killings – serial killings." He claps his hands in front of his face in delight; he doesn't even bother to contain his excitement. "We've got ourselves a serial killer. I love those. There's always something to look forward to."

"Why are you saying that?" Lestrade asks.

Sherlock stops and shouts up the stairs. "Her case! Come on, where is her case? Did she eat it?! Someone else was here, and they took her case." He talks in a quieter note, as if he's making a note to himself. "So the killer must have driven her here; forgot the case was in the car."

"She could have checked into a hotel," John supplies. "left her case there."

"No, she never got to the hotel. Look at her hair. She color-coordinates her lipstick and her shoes." I nod my head in agreement. "She'd never have left any hotel with her hair still looking," he stops talking as he makes a realization. "Oh." His eyes widen and his face lights up. "Oh!" He claps his hands in delight.

"Sherlock?" John asks.

Greg is now leaning over the railings, trying to hear Sherlock better. "What is it, what?"

Sherlock however is now smiling cheerfully to himself. "Serial killers are always hard. You have to wait for them to make a mistake."

"We can't just wait!"

"Oh, we're done waiting!" He begins to hurry down the stairs again. "Look at her, really look! Houston, we have a mistake. Get on to Cardiff: find out who Jennifer Wilson's family and friends were. Find Rachel! "

He reaches the bottom of the stairs and disappears from sight. "Of course, yeah, but" Lestrade shouts loudly. "what mistake?!"

Sherlock comes back into view and bellows up at Lestrade. "PINK!" He then hurries off again.

I frown before saying. "Ding-dang it."

"What?" Lestrade asks as he looks down at me. "You know what he's talking about?"

"Almost but," I shake my head before admitting. "I think I'm going to like him. And it's a most irritating realization for me."


	5. Alternate Meeting Pt 5

Chapter five: Alternate Meeting Pt. 5

* * *

Forgotten by everyone else, John and I, after returning the coveralls, make our way back to the streets. It's not a surprise to me to find that Sherlock has vacated the premises and is probably running around on some mad scheme that will turn out to be correct. I hate to admit it, but that man is absolutely brilliant.

John and I walk towards the police tape, unfortunately, Donovan, is still standing at the tape. She looks directly at John and speaks. "He's gone."

"Who," John asks. "Sherlock Holmes?"

"Yeah, he just took off." She explains. "He does that."

John asks. "Is he coming back?"

"Didn't look like it."

I shrug. "He's probably going to turn up with the murderer gift wrapped for everyone, next time we see him."

"Right." John looks around the area, slightly unsure about what to do. He looks to me. "Do you know where we are?"

I shake my head. "Haven't the faintest. I just arrived here."

"Right ... yes, forgot that." He turns to Donovan. "Sorry, where am I?"

"Brixton."

"Right. Er, do you know where I could get a cab? It's just, er ... well," he looks down awkwardly at his cane. "my leg."

Donovan looks uninterested or sympathetic as she lifts the tape for John. "Try the main road."

John ducks under the tape. "Thanks."

I move to follow him, but sally's cold voice stops me on the other side of the tape. "But you're not his friend." John turns back towards her. "He doesn't have friends. So who are you?"

"I'm ... I'm nobody. I just met him."

"Ok, bit of advice then: stay away from that guy."

"Why?" John and I ask in unison.

"You know why he's here? He's not paid or anything. He likes it." that didn't surprise me. That probably explained why Sherlock saw things others didn't see. He liked it, while it was just a job to them. "He gets off on it. The weirder the crime, the more he gets off. And you know what? One day just showing up won't be enough. One day we'll be standing round a body and Sherlock Holmes will be the one that put it there."

I snort. "That's stupid!"

"Why would he do that?" John asks with more eloquence and patience than I can muster up.

"Because he's a psychopath," I shake my head in disbelief at her claim. "and psychopaths get bored.

"He's more sociopath than anything else." I commented. "And Sherlock, do you know why he gets off on it? It's because he wants to help people. Sure, he's rude, cocky, and arrogant. But you cannot be stupid enough not to admit that he's a brilliant genius and all geniuses are a little odd. But with his intelligence, he has the right to be odd and arrogant and at times. Nobody appreciated Vincent van Gogh's work while he was alive and he was a bit eccentric as well. Today, his works are worth millions. You cannot see it now, but I'm going to predict, Sherlock and his works, are going to be just as famous."

My pretty speech is lost on sally. "And, who are you again."

Before I can answer her, Lestrade calls her from the house as if knowing what was going on out here. "Donovan!"

"Coming." She walks towards the house, calling a final warning over her shoulder. "Stay away from Sherlock Holmes."

John watches her go for a moment, then turns and begins to limp off down the road. As we pass a public telephone box, it begins to ring. John looks at it for a few seconds but then continues down the road. The phone stops ringing. John and I talk, but not a lot, mainly about the case and a few theories, which I am certain aren't accurate.

When we reach, Brixton High Road John tries to hail a passing taxi. But they all pass him by. The fast food restaurant outside which we are standing, the payphone on the wall begins to ring again. One of the serving staff walks over to it but as he reaches for the phone, it stops.

We walk further down the road and shortly afterwards approaches another public telephone box. The phone inside starts to ring. I shake my head in disbelief. "Honestly, do all the phones ring off the hook like this?"

"Actually, no, they don't." John pulls open the door, goes inside and lifts the phone to his ear. "Hello?"

A man's voice speaks through the phone. I can hear him. _There is a security camera on the building to your left. Do you see it?_

John frowns as I look towards the camera. "Who's this? Who's speaking?"

The man ignores the camera. _Do you see the camera, Doctor Watson?_

John looks at the CCTV camera high up on the wall of the building. "Yeah, I see it."

_Watch._ The camera now begins to move. _T__here is another camera on the building opposite you. Do you see it?_ We look in astonishment to the building as the camera begins to move and swivel again. A faint chill runs down my spine. I don't know who this man is, but he has to be bad, no good person would do this. _And finally, at the top of the building on your right._

I don't even bother to look. I know he's turning the camera. I wished I had Sherlock's number, so I could text him about this situation. "How are you doing this?" John asked, without a faint quiver in his voice.

_Get into the car, Doctor Watson and bring Miss Taylor with you. _A black car pulls up at the curb, filling me with foreboding. The male driver gets out and opens the rear door. I casually glance at the license plate number, slowly memorizing it. _I __would__ make some sort of threat, but I'm sure your situation is quite clear to you._

A few moments later, we are sitting silently in the back seat of the car as it pulls away. An attractive young woman is sitting beside John. However, her eyes fixed on her BlackBerry as she types on it, ignoring him.

"Hello." John says.

She smiles brightly at him for a moment before returning her phone. "Hi." I roll my eyes; John isn't going to have any luck with someone who cannot take her eyes off her phone for ten seconds.

"What's your name, then?"

She hesitates, drawing it out before responding. "Anthea."

I roll my eyes again as John asks. "Is that your real name?"

"No."

John nods, then looks out of the rear window briefly. "I'm John."

Again, no response. "Yes. I know."

"Any point in asking where I'm going?"

"None at all... John."

"Okay."

I decide to remain silent in my situation, not to give them any vital information about myself. However, if they knew my name, they must know something about me. But I wasn't going to slip and give them some information about things you didn't know.

Sometime later, the car pulls into an almost-empty warehouse. A man in a suit is standing in the centre of the area, leaning casually on an umbrella as if he figures himself to be Gene Kelly. He stands there as he watches the car stop and John and I get out. I pull my coat closer around me and survey the warehouse.

The only unusual thing I notice is the chair that's in front of the man. He gestures to it with his umbrella as John limps towards him. "Have a seat, John."

John speaks his voice calm. "You know, I've got a phone." He looks around the warehouse. "I mean, very clever and all that, but ... you could just phone me. On _my_ phone."

John walks straight past the chair and stops a few paces away from the man. The man looks at us coldly, calculating as he studies us before speaking. "When one is avoiding the attention of Sherlock Holmes," I groan. "one learns to be discreet, he this place."

"I should have known." I mutter. "It would have to do with him."

The man's voice was pleasant. "The leg must be hurting you. Sit down."

John ignores his offer. "I don't want to sit down."

The man looks at him curiously. "You don't seem very afraid."

"You don't seem very frightening." John says with a quick comeback.

I smirk as the man chuckles. "Ah, yes. The bravery of the soldier. Bravery is by far the kindest word for stupidity, don't you think?" he looks towards me. "You're being remarkably calm for a woman. Most unusual. You weren't in the military or anything."

I shake my head. "No, I'm just morbidly curious."

The man looks at John, his expression changing towards stern. "What is your connection to Sherlock Holmes?"

John is somewhat taken aback. "I don't have one. I barely know him. I met him ... yesterday."

The man looks at me. "And you?"

"I met him today," I added. "he seduced me with his enthusiasm of solving crimes. So out of lack of interest, I tagged along."

"Mmm, and since yesterday you've moved in with him and now you're solving crimes together." His expression is completely droll. "Might we expect a happy announcement by the end of the week? Or," he looks towards me and I glower at him. "would it be from you? After all, you two are already getting off to such a splendid start. Wedding bells before the year is out."

"Shut up." I snap out. "Don't be ridiculous! If I were thinking of marriage, Sherlock Holmes would be the last man in the world that I would ever marry! "

His brow arched. "Plucky too, Sherlock will like that."

"I don't care what he likes; now just stick to whatever it is you summoned us here for." I glance at my phone. "It's late and I've got work to do."

"Who are you?" John asks.

"An interested party."

"Interested in Sherlock? Why?"

I mutter. "Who _isn't _interested in Sherlock?"

John doesn't seem to hear me. "I'm guessing you're not friends."

"You've met him. How many 'friends' do you imagine he has? I am the closest thing to a friend that Sherlock Holmes is capable of having."

"And what's that?"

He replies instantly. "An enemy."

"An enemy?"

"In his mind, certainly." I thought I heard a slight smile in his voice. "If you were to ask him, he'd probably say his arch-enemy. He does love to be dramatic."

John looks around the warehouse, sarcasm ringing in his voice. "Well, thank God you're above all that." The man frowns at him as John's phone goes off. He takes out the phone from his pocket and looks at the message.

Mine goes off as well and I glance at it. _Baker Street. Come at once if convenient. SH_. I immediately text back to him. _I'm busy, bother somebody else. And I don't recall giving you my phone number!_

"I hope I'm not distracting you." The man says, boredom creeping into his voice.

John shrugs casually as he pockets his phone. "Not distracting me at all."

The man shifts his weight and addresses both of us. "Do you plan to continue your association with Sherlock Holmes?"

"I could be wrong ... but I think that's none of your business."

I nod. "Agreed."

The man speaks a little ominously. "It could be."

John shakes his head. "It really couldn't."

The man takes a notebook from his inside pocket, then opens it and then reads from it. "If you do move into, um ... 200 and 21 B Baker Street, I'd be happy to pay you a meaningful sum of money on a regular basis to ease your way." He closes the notebook and puts it away again. I instantly realize that he's offer to pay John a handsome sum to spy on Sherlock Holmes.

"Why?" John asks.

"Because you're not a wealthy man."

"In exchange for what?"

"Information." He says blandly. "Nothing indiscreet. Nothing you'd feel...uncomfortable with. Just tell me what he's up to."

"Why?"

"I worry about him. Constantly."

John doesn't bother keeping the insincerity out of him. "That's nice of you."

"But I would prefer for various reasons that my concern go unmentioned. We have what you might call a ... difficult relationship."

"Like siblings?" I offer. John's phone sounds another text alert. Again, he immediately fishes the phone out and looks at the message as mine goes off. I groaned and mutter. "I'm going to kill him _after _he solves the crime!" I glance at the phone. _If inconvenient, come anyway. And as to how I got your phone number, that's my business. Besides, you're not busy, you're about to come back here anyway because you need to meet the furniture men in an hour. SH. _I groan and begin typing back. _If I do come back, it's not because you requested it. I'm not a dog for you to whistle and expect to come running! I'm a cat, which means when you call, I will acknowledge you before looking away. Good evening! _And after that, I shut off my phone.

John responds to the man's offer. "No."

"But I haven't mentioned a figure."

"Don't bother."

The man laughs briefly. "You're very loyal, very quickly."

"No, I'm not. I'm just not interested."

The man looks at him closely for a moment, then takes out his notebook and opens it again. "Trust issues," it says here."

Now, for the first time, John looks a little unnerved. "What's that?"

He doesn't even look up from his book. "Could it be that you've decided to trust Sherlock Holmes of all people?"

"Who says I trust him?" John asks.

"You don't seem the kind to make friends easily."

"Are we done?" John cuts him off.

The man looks into John's eyes. "You tell me."

I clear my throat. "What does….this offer in figures sound like?"

His brow arches. "You want more money? Goodness. You're already a millionaire."

I smirk, placing a hand on my hip. "Yeah, but I'm not about to turn down the chance to make more money without working for it. Come on, what's the bid?"

John frowns. "Are you serious?"

"Deadly." I turn back to the man and meet his gaze. "Make me an offer." He blinks once and then reaches into his pocket, pulling out his wallet, handing me over a huge handful of one-hundred pound notes. I arch a brow. "Well, it shall be a pleasure doing business with you I think."

He smirks at me. "You're the smart one."

"Yeah, I believe in making investments."

John shakes his head in disbelief. "I cannot believe-

I cut him off. "I'm a business woman John and this, is business. No time to get sentimental when there's money to be made."

"Indeed, and you're the intelligent kind of woman to realize that." John looks at both of us for a long moment, then starts to walk away. "I imagine people have already warned you to stay away from him, but I can see from your left hand that's not going to happen." He tucks his wallet and notebook back into his coat.

John stops dead in his tracks. His shoulders tense and he angrily shakes his head a little. He turns back around to face the man. "My what?"

"Show me." The man nods towards John's left hand as he speaks. John raises his left hand slowly and stands completely still. The man strolls forward, reaching for John's hand.

John instantly pulls his hand back a little. "Don't." the man gives John a questioning look. John then lowers his hand, holding it out flat with the palm down. The man takes it in both of his own hands and looks at it closely. "Remarkable."

I frown in confusion as John snatches his hand away. "What is?"

The man turns and walks away from us. "Most people blunder round this city, and all they see are streets and shops and cars. When you walk with Sherlock Holmes, you see the battlefield." He turns towards John again. "You've seen it already, haven't you?"

John ignores his statements and asks. "What's wrong with my hand?"

"You have an intermittent tremor in your left hand." John nods his head. "Your therapist thinks its post-traumatic stress disorder. She thinks you're haunted by memories of your military service."

John flinches as the man fires off these facts at him. I can't help but wonder if this man _is _related to Sherlock Holmes. "Who the hell are you?" John demands calmly. "How do you know that?"

"Fire her." He says coldly. "She's got it the wrong way round. You're under stress right now and your hand is perfectly steady." He allows his words to flow over a shocked John. "You're not haunted by the war, Doctor Watson ... you miss it." He whispers. "Welcome back." He starts to walk away just as John's phone goes off again. "Time to choose a side, Doctor Watson."

John stands fixed to the spot for a few seconds, and then glances at his phone again. Anthea gets out and walks a few paces towards him, her attention still riveted to the stupid phone. I am tempted to check my phone, but I remember turning it off. "I'm to take you home." John puts the phone back into his pocket. "Address?"

After a long moment, John speaks decisively. "Baker Street. 221B Baker Street. But I need to stop off somewhere first."

* * *

**Sorry about the delay, I took a small vacation from fanfiction, but now I'm back. Also, I need to warn everyone that the Robin Hood fandom was attacked by a spammer. Barac Obama. This person left, graphic, pornographic, reviews on 21 peoples stories, including one of mine. Please, block them and report them to fanfiction. If you wish to know the extend to the reviews, click on 'God gave me you' and read the reviews, but be prepared to be shocked.**


	6. Alternate meeting pt 6

Chapter six: Alternate meeting pt. 6

* * *

After making a quick stop at John's old flat, the car pulls back up outside 221B Baker Street. Anthea is still glued to whatever she's typing on her phone. John looks across to her. "Listen, your boss, any chance you could not tell him this is where I went?"

She shrugs nonchalantly. "Sure."

I roll my eyes as I get out of the car. John is a little slow, but sweet. "You've told him already, haven't you?" I close the door and make my way towards the sidewalk. I wait patiently while John exchanges a few more words with Anthea before getting out. After closing the door, he turns to me. "So, shall we see what he wants?"

I nod. "Yes." I admit confidentially, as we make our way up the stairs. "Don't admit it to him, but I'm curious to what he was up to, but I wasn't about to be bullied into answering my phone, that's why I turned it off."

"I guess that makes sense." John frowns. "I don't get it about him. He's just….I mean…I only met him yesterday."

I shrug. "Don't feel too awkward. I just met him a few hours ago. So that puts you _way_ ahead of me in the sense and sensibility department."

John chuckles as we enter the living room. Sherlock is lying stretched out on the sofa with his jacket off and his gaze riveted to the ceiling. He then lets out a noisy breath and his body relaxes as he clenches and unclenches his left fist several times.

I frown as John asks. "What are you doing?"

"Nicotine patch." He states too calmly. "Helps me think." He lifts his hand to show that he has three large nicotine patches stuck to his arm. "Impossible to sustain a smoking habit in London these days, bad news for brain work." He loudly clicks the 'k' on work, causing me to smile slightly.

John walks further into the room. "It's good news for breathing."

Sherlock shrugs John's doctoral advice dismissively. "Oh, breathing. Breathing's boring."

I add. "Try not breathing for several hours and let me know if it's boring or not."

He doesn't even blink as John looks more closely at Sherlock's arm. "Is that three patches?"

Sherlock then presses his hands in a prayer position under his chin. "It's a three-patch problem."

Sherlock then closes his eyes. John looks around the room for a moment, and then looks down at Sherlock again, waiting for an answer. "Well?" Sherlock doesn't respond. I roll my eyes. We were in London, he bothers both of us to come immediately and what do we get? The sound of crickets chirping! "You asked me to come. I'm assuming it's important."

Sherlock still doesn't respond instantly, but after a couple of seconds his eyes snap open as he remembers. "Oh, yeah, of course." He doesn't even bother to look at John though. "Can I borrow your phone?"

My mouth drops open. "What?"

"My phone?" John asks in disbelief.

"Don't wanna use mine." He explains. "Always a chance that the number will be recognized. It's on the website."

"Mrs. Hudson's got a phone." John bites out.

"Yeah, she's downstairs." Sherlock is ignorant of John's frustrations. "I tried shouting but she didn't hear."

John is now beginning to get angry. "I was the other side of London."

Sherlock comments mildly. "There was no hurry." John glares at him as Sherlock continues staring at the ceiling before closing his eyes again. Eventually John digs his phone out of his jacket pocket and holds it towards him.

"Here." Without opening his eyes, Sherlock holds out his right hand with the palm up. John glowers at him for a moment, then steps forward and slaps the phone into his hand. Sherlock slowly lifts his arm and puts his hands together again, this time with the phone in between his palms."

I shake my head; he's like a…spoiled child! I cannot refrain from asking him. "And…is this why you wanted me to come back as well? Because you wanted to use my phone?"

"Yes."

I groan as I sit down on the arm of the couch. "I give up."

John turns and walks a few steps away. "So what's this about, the case?"

Sherlock mutters softly. "Her case."

"Her case?" John repeats.

Sherlock opens his eyes. "Her suitcase, yes, obviously." He paused before lowering his voice slightly in thought. "The murderer took her suitcase. First big mistake." I nod in agreement.

"Okay, he took her case." John asks. "So?"

Sherlock mutters to himself. "It's no use, there's no other way. We'll have to risk it." Raising his voice a little, he holds the phone out towards John, still not looking at him. "On my desk there's a number. I want you to send a text."

John tightly asks Sherlock in angry disbelief. "You brought me here ... to send a text?

Sherlock is still oblivious to his anger. "Text, yes. Thought we'd established that already that. The number on my desk." He continues to hold the phone out while John glowers at him. I wonder if John is contemplating if he could plead justifiable homicide and get away with it if he murdered Sherlock Holmes. He'd have the whole police force to back up his claim. But John decides against it as he snatches the phone from Sherlock's hand. Sherlock refolds his hands under his chin and closes his eyes. John walks over to the window and looks out of it as opposed to going to the desk, as Sherlock ordered. Sherlock opens his eyes and tilts his head slightly towards him, as if curious by the disobedience. "What's wrong?"

"We just met a friend of yours."

Sherlock frowns in complete confusion. "A friend?!" He sounds it difficult to believe that he'd have even one friend in the world and the thought terrifies him.

John decides to change his adjective. "An enemy."

Sherlock immediately relaxes and asks calmly. "Oh. Which one?"

I laugh at him. "You have that many that you can't decipher who it is?"

"Not without some sort of clue."

"Your arch-enemy, according to him." John turns towards Sherlock. "Do people have arch-enemies?"

Sherlock looks towards me and then towards John, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. "Did he offer you money to spy on me?"

John is silent for a moment before replying. "Yes."

"Did you take it?"

"No."

"Pity." He says with a slight sulk in his voice. "We could have split the fee. Think it through next time." I laugh as I slap the fee in Sherlock's hand. His eyes widen slightly in confusion. "What?"

"I accepted the fee."

He frowns, as if totally surprised that I'd accept money. "You accepted it?"

"Yeah, I'm morbid that way. But, no need to split it, it's yours to keep."

"Why?"

"Because, you're obviously broke and I can buy out this whole building from Mrs. Hudson if I wanted to."

He glared at me in indignation. "I am not broke."

"Yeah, you are." I tossed my hair. "I know your type, can see them a mile off. Sergeant Donavon said that you solve cases without being paid for it, so you could use the cash. It's a onetime thing; I just did it to tick the man off."

"Who is he?" John asks.

Sherlock mutters softly. "The most dangerous man you've ever met and not my problem right now."

I shrug. "He could almost be your older brother." He frowns at me. "Well, there were some similarities."

Sherlock spoke loudly. "On my desk, the number."

John gives him a dark look but Sherlock has already looked away again so John walks over to the desk and picks up a piece of paper."Jennifer Wilson." I frown and look down at Sherlock. "That was ... hang on. Wasn't that the dead woman?"

"Yes. That's not important. Just enter the number." Shaking his head, John gets his phone out and starts to type the number. "Are you doing it?"

"Yes."

"Have you done it?" Sherlock demands impatiently.

"Yeah... hang on!" John snaps at him.

Sherlock waist a few moments before speaking again. "These words exactly: "What happened at Lauriston Gardens? I must have blacked out." John starts to type but looks at Sherlock as Sherlock continues his dictation. "22 Northumberland Street. Please come."

I shake my head, immediately guessing what's going on as John asks with a frown. "You blacked out?"

"What? No. No!" He flips his legs around, kicking me in the shoulder, causing me to fly off my perch and stumble forward a few steps. Sherlock stands up, walks _over_ the coffee table, and goes to the kitchen. I rub my aching shoulder while I glower at him. "Type and send it. Quickly." He then picks up a small pink suitcase from a chair and brings it back into the living room. He grabs one of the dining chairs and flips it around, setting it near one of the large armchairs near the fireplace. He puts the suitcase onto the dining chair and sits down in the armchair. John is still typing. "Have you sent it?"

"What's the address?"

Sherlock repeats it impatiently. "Twenty-two Northumberland Street. Hurry up!"

"Keep your pants on." I mutter as I approach him. "So, you found it. Good job."

He looks up at me curiously for a moment before unzipping the case, opening the lid, revealing the contents. I kneel down beside him and peer inside the suitcase. There are a few items of clothing and underwear, all in varying shades of pink. There's also a wash bag, and a paperback novel by Paul Bunch entitled "Come to Bed Eyes". I pick up the book, flip through a few pages, I pause and read for a bit. But I soon realize that it rather a graphic, smutty and sexy book, I drop it back into the case, shifting uncomfortably. Sherlock looks at me, a subtle smirk on his face. "Not your type?"

I shake my head. "I prefer Shakespeare."

His brow arches in curiosity. "Really?"

"That's ... that's the pink lady's case." John's voice causes us to focus back to the subject at hand. "That's Jennifer Wilson's case."

Sherlock leans forward, studying the case closely. "Yes, obviously." As John continues to stare, Sherlock looks up at him and then rolls his eyes before adding sarcastically. "Oh, perhaps I should mention: I didn't kill her."

"I never said you did." John says.

"Why not?" Sherlock demands instantly. "Given the text I just had you send and the fact I that have her case; it's a perfectly logical assumption."

"Do people usually assume you're the murderer?" John inquires.

He smirks slightly. "Now and then, yes." He puts his hands onto the arms of the armchair and lifts his feet up and under him, so that he is perching on the seat with his backside braced against the backrest, then clasps his hands under his chin. He looks like a monkey sitting in that ridiculous position as he turns his gaze towards me. "What about you?"

I snort. "You wouldn't bring out the case and show it to us if you were the murderer. I'll admit it, I'm stupid, but I'm not _that _stupid."

He smirks at me. "You're not too bad."

I glower at him. "Stop flirting."

He glowers back. "Flirting?"

"Yeah. Flirting, stop it!"

He frowns at me. "I'm not flirting with you!"

"Then stop acting like you're flirting with me if you're not!"

John sinks into the chair opposite Sherlock. "How did you get this?"

"By looking." He replies simply.

"Where?"

"The killer must have driven her to Lauriston Gardens." He explains rapidly. "He could only keep her case by accident if it was in the car. Nobody could be seen with this case without drawing attention, particularly a man, which is statistically more likely, so obviously he'd feel compelled to get rid of it the moment he noticed he still had it. Wouldn't have taken him more than five minutes to realize his mistake. I checked every back street wide enough for a car five minutes from Lauriston Gardens and anywhere you could dispose of a bulky object without being observed. Took me less than an hour to find the right skip."

"Pink. You got all that because you realized the case would be pink?"

"Well, it had to be pink, obviously."

John mutters to himself. "Why didn't I think of that?"

"Because you're an idiot." My mouth drops open in shock; John looks at him startled by such a rude remark. Sherlock makes a trivializing gesture with one hand. "No, no, no, don't look like that. Practically everyone is." I smack his shoulder and he glowers at his shoulder, as if expecting a handprint to be there. He refolds his hands and then extends his index fingers to point at the case. "Now, look. Do you see what's missing?"

"From the case? How could I?"

"Her phone." Sherlock and I say in complete unison. "Where's her mobile phone? There was no phone on the body, there's no phone in the case. We know she had one, that's her number there; you just texted it."

"Maybe she left it at home." John offers.

I shake my head. "Highly illogical John."

Sherlock then sits down properly on the chair. "She has a string of lovers and she's careful about it. She never leaves her phone at home."

"Er," John pauses, rethinking his actions. "why did I just send that text?"

"Well, the question is," Sherlock says slowly. "where is her phone now?"

"She could have lost it."

"Yes, or-

Sherlock's voice drops off, allowing John to think about the implication. He speaks slowly as the situation becomes clear. "The murderer ... you think the murderer has the phone?"

"Maybe she left it when she left her case. Maybe he took it from her for some reason. Either way, the balance of probability is the murderer has her phone."

"Sorry," John shakes his head as he begins to grow slightly concerned. "what are we doing? Did I just text a murderer?!"

I exhale in relief. "And I turned my phone off. Thank goodness."

"What good will that do?" John asks. At that moment, John's phone begins to ring. I hold my breath as John looks at his phone screen. When John makes no sign to answer it and looks at Sherlock, I know in a heartbeat that Sherlock's gamble paid off.

"A few hours after his last victim, and now he receives a text that can only be from her. If somebody had just found that phone they'd ignore a text like that, but the murderer," he pauses dramatically for a moment until the phone stops ringing. "would panic."

He flips the lid of the suitcase closed and springs up, walking across the room to pick up his jacket. As John continues to stare down at his phone, Sherlock puts his jacket on and walks towards the door. "Have you talked to the police?" John asked.

"Four people are dead. There isn't time to talk to the police."

"So why are you talking to me?" John asks.

Sherlock reaches behind the door to take his greatcoat from the hook. "Mrs. Hudson took my skull." He sounds like a child forlornly telling a playmate about a missing toy.

"So," John asks in inquisitive irritation. "I'm basically filling in for your skull?"

He brushes it off as he begins to put on his coat. "Relax, you're doing fine." John still doesn't make any signs to move. "Well?"

"Well what?"

"Well, you could just sit there and watch telly." Sherlock makes a face, letting me know he cannot stand television.

"What, you want me to come with you?"

"I like company when I go out, and I think better when I talk aloud. The skull just attracts attention, so," John and I smile briefly. "problem?"

"Yeah, Sergeant Donovan."

He looks away in exasperation. "What about her?"

"She said ... you get off on this. You enjoy it."

He smirks nonchalantly. "And I said "dangerous", and here you are." He looks to me. "You ready?"

"Yes," I cross my arms and smile. "but I'm not going this time. I've got work to do."

"Fine." He instantly he turns and walks out of the door.

John sits there thoughtfully for a few seconds, and then he pushes himself to his feet and head for the door. "Damn it!"

I chuckle and call after them. "Have fun! Let me know what happens!"

I shut their flat door and head upstairs to get to work on my flat. I plug my MP3 player in and begin playing the 'Enchanted' soundtrack. I get partway through the flat when I realize that I've left my purse and phone down the stairs. I take my MP3 player down to Sherlock's flat to retrieve it. I sing cheerfully as I go down the stairs, push the door open….to find the flat filled people including Inspector Lestrade, Sally and Andersen.

I look at them as I cross my arms before shaking my head. "Sherlock...is _not _going to like this!"


	7. Alternate Meeting Pt 7

Chapter seven: Alternate Meeting Pt. 7

* * *

Lestrade frowns at me. "What are you doing here?"

"I left my purse in the flat; it has my makeup and phone in it. What are _you _doing here?"

"It's a drugs bust." Andersen said from within the kitchen. "Checking on our favorite psychopath."

Lestrade speaks to one of the officers. "Alright, get that purse we found, it's not evidence. It's hers."

I groan as I turn to acknowledge Andersen, who's in the kitchen, sizing me up. I scowl at him. "A drug's bust?! Ha! Even if he did do drugs, which I doubt, I don't think he'd put them anywhere for you all to find! Well, if you're head of the group I guess it's fine, they won't find anything." I take my purse from the officer. "Thank you."

"You can go now." Lestrade offers. "You don't need to stay."

"Thank you for the offer, but," I sit on the couch and cross my legs. "I'm not going. I don't think he'd appreciate it."

"Alright then suit yourself." Lestrade clears his throat. "Er, uhm, who are you exactly?"

"Tammy Taylor, I just moved into the flat above yesterday, after arriving from the states."

His brow arches. "Really? And how do you know Sherlock?"

"I met him when he arrived here this morning; we hate each other, end of story."

Sally scowls. "Hate him? You said earlier that he's likely the next Van Gogh."

I nod at her. "Yeah, but Van Gogh is not really everyone's favorite artist. I'll stick with my claim, but if you're inquiring if we're lovers or anything," Lestrade begins shaking his head. "you'll all be disappointed, because we're not!"

"No, I'm not _that _curious." He says. "It's just that…Sherlock is a very….unusual man."

"That's one word for him." I mutter.

"Yeah. And…well, to see him show up with a woman it's-

Sally speaks up. "We thought he was gay."

"I don't think he is. And to those wondering if there's a possibility of us having a relationship together, it's highly illogical. I just broke off my engagement to someone in the states the day before and I'm not here looking for another man, in particular Sherlock Holmes!"

"What are you doing in my flat?" I groan as I hear Sherlock's voice and his footsteps coming up the stairs. My voice must have been a lot louder than it should be for him to hear it.

I groan and look at Lestrade. "Actually, that's Sherlock's chair and I don't think he'll appreciate you in his chair when he arrives."

He smirks. "I'll risk it."

Sherlock flings open the living room door and he immediately glares at Lestrade sitting casually in his chair. Sherlock storms over to Lestrade. "What are you doing?" he demands.

"Well, I knew you'd find the case." Lestrade said without flinching. "I'm not stupid."

"You can't just break into my flat." Sherlock turns to me and snaps. "What are you doing here?"

"Making sure they don't plant anything." I comment firmly. "And you Mr. Holmes will watch how you address me!"

"And you can't withhold evidence." Lestrade points out. "And I didn't break into your flat."

"Well," Sherlock spreads his arms out, questioning the activity going on around him. "what do you call this then?"

Lestrade looks around at his officers before innocently remarking to Sherlock. "It's a drugs bust."

"Which, is 1,000,000% bull." I add.

"Seriously?!" John scoffs at the ludicracy of the suggestion. "This guy, a junkie?! Have you met him?!"

However, I've gotten a good look at Sherlock's face as he turns and walks towards John, biting his lip nervously. "John."

My mouth falls open. "What?!"

However, John is still talking to Lestrade, who is grinning at the exchange between everyone. "I'm pretty sure you could search this flat all day, you wouldn't find anything you could call recreational."

"John," Sherlock adds in a lower voice. "you probably want to shut up now."

"Yeah, but come on," John's voice dies as he finally looks at Sherlock and realizes how serious Sherlock's expression is. "No."

"What?" Sherlock looks confused for a moment.

"You?"

Sherlock blinks in surprise before saying in irritated disbelief. "Shut up!"

I ask. "Was it for a case? With your intelligence, I sincerely doubt that you were a…junkie."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence." He turns back to Lestrade. "I'm not your sniffer dog."

"No," Lestrade nods towards the kitchen. "Andersen's my sniffer dog."

Sherlock's eyes bulge. "What, An," I stand up as Andersen turns towards Sherlock from behind the sliding, closed kitchen door and raises his hand in sarcastic greeting. Sherlock explodes angrily. "Andersen, what are you doing here on a drugs bust?"

Venom practically drips down Andersen's chin. "Oh, I volunteered."

Sherlock turns away, biting his lip angrily as Greg explains. "They all did. They're not strictly speaking on the drugs squad, but they're very keen."

I roll my eyes. "I can imagine."

Sally comes from the kitchen, holding a small glass jar with some white round objects in it. "Are these human eyes?"

"What?" I gasp out.

"Put those back!" Sherlock demands immediately, gesturing towards the microwave.

"They were in the microwave!" she points out to Greg.

"You're kidding!" I stare at the jar in her hands in amazement.

"It's an experiment." He sneers out.

"Fascinating!" I look at him. "Why were they in the microwave?"

Sherlock ignores my question, shoving his hands deep into his pockets and begins pacing the room in agitation. "Keep looking, guys." Lestrade stands up and turns to Sherlock. "Or you could help us properly and I'll stand them down."

Sherlock hisses angrily at him as he walks by Lestrade without a second look. "This is childish."

"Well, I'm dealing with a child." Lestrade points out, causing Sherlock to pause in his tracks for a second, before continuing his pacing with a slight sulk on his face. "Sherlock, this is our case. I'm letting you in, but you do not go off on your own." Sherlock rolls his eyes as Lestrade demands. "Clear?"

Sherlock finally stops pacing to glare at him. "Oh, what, so-so-so you set up a pretend drugs bust to bully me?" he has no qualms getting close into a detective inspector's face.

Lestrade doesn't appear to intimidated. "It stops being pretend if they find anything."

"I am clean!" Sherlock proclaims loudly as he looks around the flat.

"Is your flat?" Lestrade questions. "All of it?"

"I think it would be best to take him at his word." I say quietly.

"I don't even smoke." He spits out as he unbuttons the cuff on his left sleeve, pulls it up to reveal one of the three nicotine patches.

"Neither do I." Lestrade pulls up the right sleeve of his own shirt to show a patch on his arm. Sherlock rolls his eyes and turns away as they both pull their sleeves back down again. "So let's work together."

When Sherlock turns his back to Greg, I add in a lower voice. "Might want to throw him a breadcrumb or two to get him back into the arena."

He nods and says. "We've found Rachel."

Sherlock instantly turns back to him. "Who is she?"

"Jennifer Wilson's only daughter."

Sherlock frowns slightly. "Her daughter? Why would she write her daughter's name? Why?"

"Never mind that," Andersen points out. "we found the case."

He points to the pink suitcase and I groan. "For God's sake, shut up! I can see why he hates you!"

Andersen ignores me. "According to someone, the murderer has the case, and we found it in the hands of our favorite psychopath."

Sherlock looks at him disgust. "I'm not a psychopath, Andersen. I'm a high-functioning sociopath. Do your research."

I laugh. "Ha! Told you so!"

Sherlock turns back to Lestrade. "You need to bring Rachel in. You need to question her. I need to question her."

"She's dead." Lestrade says.

"Excellent!" John, Greg and I are all startled by this burst of excitement from him. "How, when and why?" I stare at him in amazement as his breathing picks up and his eyes sparkle. "Is there a connection? There has to be."

"Well, I doubt it, since she's been dead for fourteen years." Sherlock makes a face at Lestrade's words. I frown in confusion as well. "Technically she was never alive. Rachel was Jennifer Wilson's stillborn daughter, fourteen years ago."

Sherlock still looks confused. Frankly, this man is rubbing off on me, because, that doesn't make any sense either. "No, that's ... that's not right. How ... Why would she do that? Why?"

"Why would she think of her daughter in her last moments?" Andersen sneers dryly. "Yup – sociopath; I'm seeing it now."

I groan and mutter. "I'm going to punch him if he opens his mouth one more time."

Sherlock turns towards him with an exasperated look on his face. "She didn't think about her daughter. She scratched her name on the floor with her fingernails. She was dying. It took effort. It would have hurt." He begins to pace back and forth across the room again, trying to stimulate his brain.

" You said that the victims all took the poison themselves," John offers helpfully. "that he makes them take it. Well, maybe he ... I don't know, talks to them?" Sherlock scratches the back of his head, one hand on his waist. "Maybe he used the death of her daughter somehow."

Sherlock stops and turns towards John, exasperation ringing in his voice. "Yeah, but that was ages ago. Why would she still be upset?" John stares at him in silence. Sherlock hesitates as he realizes that everyone in the flat has stopped what they're doing and is staring at him in amazement. He glances around the room out of the corner of his eye before looking at John. "Not good?"

John glances around before mutter. "Bit not good, yeah."

Sherlock off the attention and steps closer to John, intensity building in his voice. "Yeah, but if you were dying ... if you'd been murdered: in your very last few seconds what would you say?"

John doesn't even hesitate. "Please, God, let me live."

He's clearly exasperated by the common phrase. "Oh, use your imagination!"

"I don't have to." John says calmly, reminding all of us of his military service to protect the country he loved.

Sherlock seems to recognize the look of pain in John's face. He pauses, blinks a couple of times, shifting his weight before speaking again. "Why am I asking you? You're not a woman and their minds are odd." He turns to me. "You are."

"Thank you very much for noticing."

Irritation flashes in his eyes at my sarcastic comment before he asks me. "What would you do?"

"First, I agree it doesn't' make sense for her to still be upset about her daughter's death fourteen years ago." Everyone groans, except Sherlock smirks slightly. "No, what I mean is time heals everything and fourteen years is a long time."

"If you'd been murdered," Sherlock asked again. "what would you say or do in your very last seconds alive on earth."

"I'd try to leave some clue to my murderer," I admitted honestly. "I wouldn't want to look down on earth to see him running around hurting others as he hurt me."

Sherlock's gaze grows intense as he steps forward, his gaze unblinking. "Yeah, but if you were clever, really clever ... Jennifer Wilson running all those lovers: she was clever."

I roll my eyes as he starts to pace again. "Thanks for the insult, I was missing them."

He ignores me as he states. "She's trying to tell us something."

Mrs. Hudson comes to the door of the living room. "Isn't the doorbell working? Your taxi's here, Sherlock."

"I didn't order a taxi." Sherlock snipes at her, waving his hand dismissively. "Go away."

He continues pacing as Mrs. Hudson looks around the room. "Oh, dear. They're making such a mess. What are they looking for?"

I watch as Sherlock presses his hands against his temples, irritation and frustration in his eyes. "It's a drugs bust, Mrs. Hudson." John explains to her.

"But they're just for my hip." Mrs. Hudson says anxiously. "They're herbal soothers."

I've been watching Sherlock's agitation grow and build for seconds. Suddenly, he just exploded and shouts over my head, with his back to the door. We're looking at each other, yet through each other. "Shut up, everybody, shut up! Don't move, don't speak, don't breathe. I'm trying to think." He raises his hand towards the kitchen. "Andersen, face the other way. You're putting me off."

I smile at him as Andersen blusters in indignation. "What? My face is?!"

"Gargoyle." I mutter.

"Everybody quiet and still." Lestrade says, humoring Sherlock and his mild tantrum. "Andersen, turn your back."

Andersen is thoroughly disgusted. "Oh, for God's sake!"

"Just do it!" I shout as Lestrade orders him. "Your back, now, please!"

Sherlock continues talking to himself. "Come on, think. Quick!"

"What about your taxi?" Mrs. Hudson asks.

Sherlock turns towards her and shouting furiously. "MRS HUDSON!" She turns and hurries away down the stairs. I bite my tongue to keep from reprimanding him when Sherlock stops as he finally realized something. "Oh. She was clever, clever, yes!" he smiles broadly in delight. "He walks across the room and then turns back to the others. "She's cleverer than you lot and she's dead!" I glower at him. "Do you see, do you get it? She didn't lose her phone, she never lost it. She _planted_ it on him." He starts pacing again. "When she got out of the car, she knew that she was going to her death. She left the phone in order to lead us to her killer." He turns to me. "Got close, very close, not bad."

"Shut up."

He blinks as Lestrade asks. "But how?"

Sherlock stops and stares at him in amazement. What, what do you mean, how?" Lestrade shrugs. "Rachel!" He looks at everyone triumphantly while we look back at him blankly. "Don't you see? Rachel!" no reactions from anyone as Sherlock laughs in disbelief. "Oh, look at you lot. You're all so vacant. Is it nice not being me? It must be so relaxing."

I cross my arms. "It's definitely a lot clearer and sentences aren't constantly being filled with red herrings."

His voice becomes stern. "Rachel is not a name."

John demands, his voice equally as stern. "Then what is it?"

"John, on the luggage, there's a label. E-mail address."

John looks at the label on the suitcase and reads out the address as Sherlock situates himself in front of his open laptop. "Er, Jennie dot pink at mephone dot org dot uk. "

Sherlock shakes his head slightly as I groan. "Oh, I've been too slow." He looks at me. "What are you groaning about?"

"I just figured it out."

He shrugs. "Well, you're a leap ahead of the others. She didn't have a laptop, which means she did her business on her phone, so it's a Smartphone, it's e-mail enabled. So there was a website for her account. The username is her e-mail address and all together now, the password is?

"Rachel." John and I chime in unison.

"So we can read her e-mails." Andersen sneers out. "So what?"

I groan and move to punch him, but Sherlock catches my arm. "Andersen, don't talk out loud. You lower the I.Q. of the whole street and Tammy's liable to KO you. We can do much more than just read her e-mails. It's a Smartphone, it's got GPS, which means if you lose it you can locate it online. She's leading us directly to the man who killed her."

"Unless he got rid of it." Greg points out.

John shakes his head. "We know he didn't."

"The phone didn't go off in here when we called it."

Sherlock looks up at me and snaps. "Oh, for God's sake! Stop it with that face!"

"What face?" I demand. "That's twice tonight you've told me to stop making a face at you. what face is it?!"

"Just stop it!"

"John! Lestrade!" I demand. "What kind of face was I making just now?"

They both shrug. "Nothing."

"No! I demand to know!"

"Will you shut up?" Sherlock demands.

"No. you shut up!" His eyes flash and he opens his mouth, but I wave a finger in front of his mouth, causing him to close it. "I mean it! Just... shut up and solve the case!" And again….I won a fight with Sherlock Holmes twice in one day.


	8. Bonus!

**Bonus alternative for Chapter 7: For Rossi's Lil Devil.**

* * *

I've been watching Sherlock's agitation grow and build for seconds. Suddenly, he just exploded and shouts over my head, with his back to the door. We're looking at each other, yet through each other. "Shut up, everybody, shut up! Don't move, don't speak, don't breathe. I'm trying to think." He raises his hand towards the kitchen. "Andersen, face the other way. You're putting me off."

I smile at him as Andersen blusters in indignation. "What? My face is?!"

"Gargoyle." I mutter.

"Everybody quiet and still." Lestrade says, humoring Sherlock and his mild tantrum. "Andersen, turn your back."

Andersen is thoroughly disgusted. "Oh, for God's sake!"

"Just do it!" I shout as Lestrade orders him. "Your back, now, please!"

Sherlock continues talking to himself. "Come on, think. Quick!"

"What about your taxi?" Mrs. Hudson asks.

Sherlock turns towards her and shouting furiously. "MRS HUDSON!" She turns and hurries away down the stairs. I bite my tongue to keep from reprimanding him when Sherlock stops as he finally realized something. "Oh. She was clever, clever, yes!" he smiles broadly in delight. "He walks across the room and then turns back to the others. "She's cleverer than you lot and she's dead!" I glower at him. "Do you see, do you get it? She didn't lose her phone, she never lost it. She _planted_ it on him." He starts pacing again. "When she got out of the car, she knew that she was going to her death. She left the phone in order to lead us to her killer." He turns to me. "Got close, very close, not bad."

"Shut up."

He blinks in surprise at my smart comment as Lestrade asks. "But how?"

Sherlock stops and stares at him in amazement. What, what do you mean, how?" Lestrade shrugs. "Rachel!" He looks at everyone triumphantly while we look back at him blankly. "Don't you see? Rachel!" No reactions from anyone as Sherlock laughs in disbelief. "Oh, look at you lot. You're all so vacant. Is it nice not being me? It must be so relaxing."

I cross my arms. "It's definitely a lot clearer and sentences aren't constantly being filled with red herrings."

His voice becomes stern. "Rachel is not a name."

John demands, his voice equally as stern. "Then what is it?"

"John, on the luggage, there's a label. E-mail address."

John looks at the label on the suitcase and reads out the address as Sherlock situates himself in front of his open laptop. "Er, Jennie dot pink at mephone dot org dot uk. "

Sherlock shakes his head slightly as I groan. "Oh, I've been too slow." He looks at me. "What are you groaning about?"

"I just figured it out." I turn towards the kitchen to fetch myself a glass of water. All the tension in the room has me starting to sweat. Frankly, I'm getting a little agitated as well.

He shrugs. "Well, you're a leap ahead of the others. She didn't have a laptop, which means she did her business on her phone, so it's a Smartphone, its e-mail enabled. So there was a website for her account. The username is her e-mail address and all together now, the password is?

"Rachel." John and I chime in unison.

"So we can read her e-mails." Andersen sneers out. "So what?"

I groan and move towards Andersen as Sherlock speaks. "Andersen, don't talk out loud. You lower the I.Q. of the whole street."

When Andersen makes a face at Sherlock's back, I tap Andersen on the shoulder and he turns and looks at me, just as I punch him in the nose! Andersen lets a shout, causing all eyes to go towards me as I shake my stinging hand. "What was that for?" He squawks through fingers holding his nose. "God!"

"For God's sake," I snap. "shut up!" I feel two hands firmly grip my shoulders and pull me back. I struggle against them. "I've had enough out of you for one night and if you don't shut up, I swear, I might try to kill you! And I don't care if I go to prison, because it'll be worth it."

I spin around and find myself looking into the smirking, yet, grinning face of Sherlock Holmes. "Thank you for your input." He looks to Andersen. "See, I'm not the only one who can't stand you."

"She's your girlfriend."

"I am not!" I protest.

Sherlock tilts his head to side. "Oh, I don't know, if I weren't married to my work and if she keeps up the way she's going with her taste, I might consider it."

My mouth drops open in surprise and everyone in the room stares at us. I pull away from him, jostling water on his shoes. "Oh, let me go. And stop saying ludicrous things to people just to get a rise out of them!" Everyone is staring at me in utter astonishment. Frankly, I'm surprised at myself. I stomp back over to the laptop and point to his vacant seat. "It's just a game and I'm not going to play it with you!" Sherlock is looking at me out of the corner of his eye with a mixture of a smile, astonishment and amusement. If I didn't know any better, I would have thought I also saw admiration. "Now, back to work!"

Lestrade looks at me as we lean over the laptop again. "Mind if I make a bet with John that you two will be dating within three months?"

I shrug. "Go ahead, but it's not going to happen."

"Might want to make it five," Sherlock comments. "that gives you two a chance to forget about the bet."

"Shut up!" I demand as I keep my gaze concentrated on the screen. "Now, if everyone's done suggesting stupid dating advice, where were we?"


	9. Alternate Meeting Pt 8

Chapter eight: Alternate Meeting Pt. 8

* * *

Sherlock looks at the screen impatiently. "Come on, come on. Quickly!"

Mrs. Hudson trots up the stairs and comes to the door again. "Sherlock, dear. This taxi driver ...

Sherlock gets to his feet and stalks over towards her with a sneer in his voice. "Mrs. Hudson, isn't it time for your evening soother?" John sits down on the chair, which Sherlock vacated, and my fingers twitch in an effort to keep from smacking Sherlock as he turns to Lestrade. "We need to get vehicles, get a helicopter." I look towards Mrs. Hudson as a man walks slowly up the stairs behind her. "We're gonna have to move fast. This phone battery won't last forever."

"We'll just have a map reference," Lestrade points out. "not a name."

"It's a start!"

"Sherlock." John says slowly, I can tell its not good news by John's voice.

However, Sherlock still talking to Lestrade. "It narrows it down from just anyone in London. It's the first proper lead that we've had."

"Sherlock." John repeats as I look over his shoulder.

I stare at the location in shock. "What? Impossible!"

Sherlock now hurries across the room to look over John's shoulder "What is it? Quickly, where?"

"It's here." John points out. "It's in 221 Baker Street."

Sherlock straightens up slowly, his face a mask of slight confusion. "How can it be here? How?"

"Well," Lestrade offers helpfully. "maybe it was in the case when you brought it back and it fell out somewhere."

"What, and I didn't notice it?" Sherlock is insulted that Lestrade would dare suggest such a thing. "Me? I didn't notice?"

John turns to Lestrade. "Anyway, we texted him and he called back."

Lestrade turns to call out to his colleagues. "Guys, we're also looking for a mobile somewhere here, belonged to the victim ...

I cut him off. "It's not here! We would have heard it. All three of us were sitting around the bag." at that moment, I look at Sherlock, he's frozen and I can practically see and visualize the gear churning in his mind. Sherlock's own phone goes off, pulling his phone from his jacket pocket, he looks at the message. I look at his face as understanding and intrigue breaks over his face. As he turns towards the door, the taxi driver turns around and heads off down the stairs. My eyes bulge and I gasp as everything comes together in my head. "Oh my gosh!"

Sherlock glowers at me and hisses. "Shut up."

"Sherlock," John asks. "you okay?"

He nods his head vaguely, watching the man go. "What? Yeah, yeah, I-I'm fine." I shake my head, oh, what an actor!

"So," John questions. "how can the phone be here?"

Sherlock ignores John. "Dunno."

John gets up and pulls his phone out of his pant pocket. "I'll try it again."

"Good idea." Sherlock heads towards the door.

"Where are you going?" John asks.

"Fresh air." Sherlock says casually even if his whole body is just rigid with delicious anticipation. "Just popping outside for a moment. Won't be long."

John frowns as Sherlock leaves the room. "You sure you're all right?"

He hurries down the stairs. "I'm fine."

I exhale hopefully in a casual manner. "I'll go with him, makes sure he doesn't go jumping off roofs something like that."

John nods. "Good idea. Try not to irritate him."

"Said the Spock to Doctor McCoy." I mutter.

I hurry downstairs to find Sherlock closing the front door. I open the door and step outside it, it's chilly, but I'm not going back in to get my coat. Anything could happen between now and then and I'm not taking any chances. Sherlock turns around and frowns at me. "What are you doing down here?"

"Making sure the murderer isn't prepared to bump off two witnesses as opposed to one."

Sherlock turns to the taxi driver, who is leaning casually against the side of the cab. "You don't mind do you? Can't seem to get rid of her."

The driver nods. "Don't matter. Know the type."

Sherlock studies him for a moment. "You're the cabbie. The one who stopped outside Northumberland Street. It was you, not your passenger."

"See? No one ever thinks about the cabbie. It's like you're invisible." I catch the disdain in his voice. "Just the back of an head. Proper advantage for a serial killer."

Sherlock takes a few more steps forward and looks up towards the windows of his flat. I take a few more steps behind him. Sherlock is relaxed, so I'm not too worried. "Is this a confession?"

" Oh, yeah." He says in a laid-back manner. "And I'll tell you what else: if you call the coppers now, I won't run." I frown, that doesn't sit well with me. "I'll sit quiet and they can take me down, I promise."

"Why?" Sherlock asks in unison with me. He glowers slightly at me.

"Cause you're not gonna do that."

Sherlock's brow arches at the challenge in the taxi drivers voice. He hates being ordered around. If it's even being suggested that he's being ordered around, he goes out of his way to prove that he's not going to be ordered around. "Am I not?"

"I didn't kill those four people, Mr. Holmes. I spoke to them ... and they killed themselves." I frown, shaking my head at that confession. "And if you get the coppers now, I promise you one thing." He leans forward, taunting Sherlock slightly. "I will never tell you what I said."

Sherlock stares at him, silently debating it. I whisper. "You'll have caught the murder though."

After a moment, the driver straightens up and starts to walk around the front of the cab. "No-one else will die, though," Sherlock points out. "and I believe they call that a result."

I nod as the driver stops and turns back towards him. "And you won't ever understand how those people died. What kind of result do you care about?"

He turns, enters to the driver's side and sits down. He then closes the door, settles into his seat and ignores Sherlock. I look as Sherlock bites his lip, struggling with the temptation. I shake my head, beginning to protest as Sherlock walks closer to the cab, looking up again at the flat window. "No, you don't!"

He ignores me as he bends over and looks into the open window of the cab. "If I wanted to understand, what would I do?"

"Let me take you for a ride."

"So you can kill me too?" Sherlock questions him immediately asking the question on the tip of my tongue.

"I don't wanna kill you, Mr. Holmes. I'm gonna talk to you ... and then you're gonna kill yourself."

A creepy, crawling spidery feeling fills my stomach as Sherlock straightens up, his eyes lost in thought as he considers the situation. The driver sits calmly gazing out of the front window. He then smiles in satisfaction as Sherlock does exactly what I told him not to go. He got into the cab and slammed the door.

"Sherlock!" I protest as the driver starts the engine. "Hold it right there!" I reached for the door handle, Sherlock moved quickly, locking the door. I hit the glass window. "I demand you let me in now!"

He shakes his head. "No. you stay here."

"No! I won't! I'm going with you!"

"No you're not!"

"Oh yes I am and you're going to let me because you don't have a choice if you want to find out!"

He rolls down the window and glares at me, irritation in his voice as he demands."Are you arguing with me?"

"Why? Do I sound like I'm making love to you?" he blinks once, letting me know I've finally gotten a rise out of him. "Of course I'm arguing with you Mr. Holmes and I'm going to win!"

"Know each other long?" the driver asks.

"We met today and frankly, her American stubbornness is rather annoying."

"As are your not so subtle British insults. Now, I'm going to challenge you. Either you let me come along, or I'm going to scream!" I step back out of his reach as he reaches for me, hoping to threaten me into silence. "And yes, you can pull out of here, but I will get the license plate number and they will run it!"

Sherlock groaned before demanding. "Why are you so concerned about me?".

"Because you're not concerned for yourself! There is only one Sherlock Holmes and frankly, if he doesn't start taking more concern for himself, then, there will be murderers running riot in London because there won't be any Sherlock Holmes!" I snap. "Now, do we have a deal?"

Sherlock groans. "God! If I ever meet that boyfriend of yours I'm going to kill him for cheating on you and sending you my way!"

"And if you succeed and manage to stay out of jail after five years, I'll pay you for the job. Now, how about it?"

He looks to the driver. "How about it Jeff, do you mind?"

He shrugs. "Not at all. I'll need a witness to testify that I didn't kill you. Besides, she's a tough one to get rid of."

"Tell me about it." Sherlock scoots over one seat. "Get in Tammy and do try to shut up."

I nod. "You won't even notice that I'm here."

The moment the taxi pulls away from the curb, I begin to question my sanity. What happened to me? What spell did Sherlock Holmes have over me anyway? We sit in silence for the longest time while Sherlock watches the London scenery pass by. But, Sherlock then begins his questioning. "How did you find me?"

"Oh, I recognized you, soon as I saw you chasing my cab." I glanced at Sherlock out of the corner of my eye, wondering how he'd missed the murderer since he could tell my whole history just by looking at me. "Sherlock Holmes! I was warned about you. I've been on your website, too. Brilliant stuff! Loved it!"

" Who warned you about me?" Sherlock asks, paying better attention to the conversation than I am.

"Just someone out there who's noticed you."

"Who?" He leans forward, looking closely Jeff's neck for some reason. "Who would notice me?"

Jeff meets his eyes briefly in the rear view mirror. "You're too modest, Mr. Holmes."

"I'm really not." Sherlock replies quickly.

"Really, he isn't." I add.

"You've got yourself a fan." He glances at me in the mirror. "Two actually."

I mimic Sherlock's tone as I sit back. "Oh, I'm really not."

"Supposedly."

I make a face. "I know so."

Sherlock nonchalantly leans back in his seat. "Tell me more." He nudges my foot, silently signaling me to be quiet. I nod and look out the window.

"That's all you're gonna know," he pauses dramatically for a moment before muttering quietly. "in this lifetime."

Now, I know that I'm in over my head and I have no way out of it. All because I followed some man that I'd just met this morning and I had no idea why I'd done it. I promised myself that if I got out of this situation alive….I'd leave him be….for a day or two.

Some further distance away, the cab drives on and finally stops at the front of two identical buildings side by side. Jeff turns off the engine and gets out, coming to the passenger door and opening it.

He looks in at Sherlock, who makes no signs to get out of the cab. "Where are we?"

Jeff isn't amused. "You know every street in London. You know exactly where we are."

"Well I don't," I add. "So tell me."

"Roland-Kerr Further Education College." Sherlock rattles off. "Why here?"

"It's open; cleaners are in." Sherlock frowns slightly. "One thing about being a cabbie: you always know a nice quiet spot for a murder. I'm surprised more of us don't branch out."

"And you just walk your victims in? How?" at that moment, Jeff raises a pistol and points it at Sherlock's head. I gasp slightly as my heart rate speeds up. However, Sherlock rolls his eyes and turns his head away. "Oh, dull."

My mouth drops open in shock and I stare at him in profound, shocked amazement. Only Sherlock could say such a thing with a gun pointed at his head. "Don't worry. It gets better."

"You can't make people take their own lives at gunpoint." He points out. I have no comments and I am choosing to keep my mouth firmly shut.

"I don't. It's much better than that." Jeff lowers the gun. "Don't need this with you, 'cause you'll follow me."

He confidently walks away. Sherlock sits for a moment, then in exasperation at himself, he makes a face and get out of the cab. I can see that he's vexed for doing just what Jeff predicted and gets out of the cab to follow the man. I shake my head. "You're proving my case. You do need someone to look after you."

"Yeah, and evidently you need someone to look after you, otherwise you wouldn't be here." He added in a lower voice. "John's on his way here with Lestrade, shouldn't be too long." I didn't even want to ask him how he knew that. But if he said so, I believed him and I was upset with myself for doing so. Instead of running away freely to get help like I should, I calmly followed him inside the building.


	10. Alternate Meeting Pt 9

Chapter nine: Alternate Meeting Pt. 9

* * *

At Roland-Kerr College, Jeff opens the door of a room and stands aside so that Sherlock can go in. Sherlock looks at him closely out of the corner of his eye as he steps inside the room. I step closer to Sherlock, as soon as both of us have entered the room, does he release the door. He then walks over to some switches on the wall and turns on the lights. We're in a large, still somewhat dirty classroom with wooden tables and plastic chairs. Sherlock walks further into the room, looking around.

"Well, what do you think?"

Sherlock raises his hands and shrugs as if to ask, _what do I think about what? Am I supposed to be impressed by this shabby little classroom? _I inhale and answer. "Well, the cleaner's aren't doing a very good job."

He ignores me and looks at Sherlock. "It's up to you. You're the one who's gonna die here."

Sherlock turns back to him, indignation in his stance; only after a long pause does he speak. "No, I'm not."

"That's what they all say." Jeff gestures to one of the tables. "Shall we talk?"

Without waiting for a reply, he pulls out one of the chairs and sits down. Sherlock takes a chair from the bench in front, flips it around once for good measure before sitting down in it. I sit in the chair next to Sherlock. He sighs; I cannot tell if it's because I chose to sit next to him, but ironically, I felt somewhat safer with him right there, I don't know why. "Bit risky, wasn't it?" Sherlock points out as he pulls off his gloves. Took me away under the eye of about half a dozen policemen. They're not that stupid." He tucks his gloves away. "And Mrs. Hudson will remember you. Not to mention Tammy as well."

"You call that a risk? Nah." He reaches into the left pocket of his sweater. "This is a risk." He takes out a small, sealed glass bottle with a single pill inside it. He then puts it onto the table in front of him. There is a single large capsule inside. Sherlock glances at it but he doesn't even look interested in the least. "Ooh, I like this bit. Cause you don't get it yet, do you?" Sherlock's only answer is silence. "But you're about to. I just have to do this." Then he reaches into his right pocket, he takes out a duplicate bottle, with an identical pill inside it. He sets it down beside the other one, with a slight smirk on his face. Sherlock's brow doesn't even rise. "You weren't expecting that, were you?"

I shake my head and bite a fingernail. "That is so Princess Bride."

Sherlock glances at me and frowns. "Princess Bride?"

I nod. "Very similar circumstances, except both bottles were poison." His brows rose slightly. "But that man that suggested the proposition cheated because he had built up an immunity to the poison."

Sherlock shook his head. "That's impossible. No one can build up an immunity to poison."

"It's a fairytale, movie and book."

He glowers at me. "Well, you might have said so."

"I thought you might have seen it."

He shot me a look that suggested watching TV was for idiots. I rolled my eyes and turned back to Jeff, asking him to continue speaking now that we were done with our little tiff. "Sherlock Holmes. Look at you!" Sherlock turns his focus back to Jeff and I rub my arms, it's chilly in here and I now regret not taking the time to go fetch a coat. "Here in the flesh. That website of yours: your fan told me about it."

"My fan?" he asks, exhaling slightly through his teeth. Obviously having fans are as big an insult has having friends.

"You are brilliant." Sherlock replies nothing to the man's obvious admiration of his brilliance. "You are a proper genius. The science of deduction. Now _that_ is proper thinking." Sherlock still hasn't blinked. "Between you and me sitting here, why can't people think?" I blink at the slight change in his voice as he looks down at the bottles angrily. "Don't it make you mad? Why can't people just think?"

He looks up at Sherlock. Sherlock looks back at him for a long moment before making another deduction with his voice positively dripping with sarcasm. "Oh, I see. So you're a proper genius too."

"Don't look it, do I?" he asks soberly, but I can catch the upset notes. "Funny little man driving' a cab. But you'll know better in a minute. Chances are it'll be the last thing you ever know."

I clear my throat. "I'm almost afraid to ask but…what'll happen to me?"

"Well…you're after him."

I shake my head. "I'm here to keep an eye on him; I'm not involved in any way, shape or form."

"You're his girlfriend, ain't you?"

"No." Sherlock and I chime in unison. I glower at him before asking. "Why does everything ask that?" He doesn't answer and I turn my attention to Jeff. "For God's sake, we just met today!"

"You two act like it's been longer."

I groan. "This is so Donna Noble and The Doctor." I hold up my hand without looking at Sherlock. "Don't ask."

Jeff observes with a smile that gives me the chills in my stomach. "Sorry, you two ain't gonna have longer."

Sherlock holds his gaze and then looks down to the table. "Okay, two bottles. Explain." I cross my arms and lean back in my chair, watching them as I feel the tension in the room begin to build. The game is on.

"There's a good bottle and a bad bottle." Jeff explains. "You take the pill from the good bottle, you live; take the pill from the bad bottle, you die."

"Both bottles are of course identical."

"In every way."

"And you know which is which."

"Course I know."

"But I don't."

"Wouldn't be a game if you knew. You're the one who chooses."

"Why should I?" Sherlock makes a face slightly. "I've got nothing to go on. What's in it for me?"

"I haven't told you the best bit yet." Jeff pauses for a moment. "Whatever bottle you choose, I take the pill from the other one, and then, together, we take our medicine."

I shake my head. _Said it was Princess Bride._ At that moment, Sherlock starts to grin. _Now_ he's interested. Of all the things to be interested in, why did it have to be this one?

"I won't cheat. It's your choice. I'll take whatever pill you don't." Sherlock looks down at the bottles, silently making his calculations. "Didn't expect that, did you, Mr. Holmes?"

"This is what you did to the rest of them," he asks, his gaze still fixated on the bottles. "you gave them a choice."

"And now I'm giving you one." Sherlock looks up at him. "You take your time. Get yourself together." Jeff licks his lips in anticipation. "I want your best game."

"It's not a game. It's chance."

"I've played four times. I'm alive. It's not chance, Mr. Holmes, this is chess. It's a game of chess, with one move, and one survivor. And this ... this ... is the move." I cross my arms as he slides a bottle across the table towards Sherlock. He licks his top lip as he studies Sherlock's face. Sherlock just stares at the bottle, making his calculations. "Did I just give you the good bottle or the bad bottle? You can choose either one." Sherlock chooses to remain silent. After several moments, Jeff speaks again, using the time to bait Sherlock. "You ready yet, Mr. Holmes? Ready to play?"

"Play what?" He sounds disinterested. "It's a fifty-fifty chance.""

"You're not playing the numbers, you're playing me." Jeff's irritation let's Sherlock know that Jeff's patience is running thin and when that happens…people make mistakes. "Did I just give you the good pill or the bad pill? Is it a bluff? Or a double-bluff? Or a triple-bluff?"

"Still just chance." Sherlock hisses back.

"Four people in a row? It's not just chance."

"Luck."

"It's genius. I know how people think." Sherlock rolls his eyes in irritation. Frankly, I don't think that Sherlock's in any position to criticize since Jeff did manage to get Sherlock here with simply words. "I know how people think _I_ think. I can see it all, like a map inside my head. Everyone's so stupid, even you." Sherlock's gaze sharpens. "Or maybe God just loves me.

I shake my head. "I'm sure he does, as he loves everyone but don't assume that it means he loves your victims any less. And I am certain that you will be shaking in your boots when you see his wrath."

He looks at me. "Thought you said he loved me."

"Oh he does, as does each parent love their child. Don't assume that can get love without anger, it doesn't…work."

Sherlock straightens up and leans forward, folding his hands in front of him on the table. "Either way, you're wasted as a cabbie." I blink and look at him as I catch the faint note of admiration in his voice. Sherlock lifts his folded hands in front of his mouth and gazes at Jeff intently. "So, you risked your life four times just to kill strangers. Why?

Jeff nods dismissively at the bottles. "Time to play." I realize that he wants to stay in control of the situation. But I know Sherlock isn't going to have any of that. Jeff had his fun, now it's Sherlock's.

Sherlock folds his fingers into that familiar prayer position in front of his mouth. "Oh, I am playing. This is my turn. There's shaving foam behind your left ear. Nobody's pointed it out to you. Traces of where it's happened before, so obviously you live on your own; there's no-one to tell you." Jeff tries not to fidget under Sherlock's gaze. "There's a photograph of children. The children's mother has been cut out of the picture. If she'd died, she'd still be there. The photograph's old but the frame's new. You think of your children but you don't get to see them." Jeff's gaze slides away from Sherlock and for the first time, there's a hint of pain in his eyes. "Estranged father. She took the kids, but you _still_ love them and it_still_ hurts." He extends his index fingers. "Ah, but there's more." Jeff lifts his gaze back to Sherlock. "Your clothes: recently laundered but everything you're wearing is at least ... three years old? Keeping up appearances but not planning… ahead. And here you are on a kamikaze murder spree. What's that about?" Jeff has control of himself again and his expression says nothing as he gazes back at Sherlock. The detective's eyes widen slightly as he makes his most important deduction. "Ahh." He exhales softly as he makes his piece de resistance of a deduction. "Three years ago, is that when they told you?"

"Told me what?" Jeff asks flatly.

"That you're a dead man walking." Sherlock points out.

Jeff shoots back at him. "So are you."

"You don't have long, though. Am I right?"

Jeff smiles. "Aneurism." He lifts his right hand and taps the side of his head. "Right here." Sherlock smiles in satisfaction. "Any breath could be my last."

Sherlock isn't satisfied, I can tell by the frown on his face. "And because you're dying, you've just murdered four people."

"I've _outlived_ four people. That's the most fun you can have on an aneurism."

I shake my head thoughtfully. Being around Sherlock for approximately two hours is enough to cause me to start thinking somewhat like him, on a downgraded level. "No. No, there's something else. You didn't just kill four people because you're bitter. Bitterness is a paralytic. Love is a much more vicious motivator." Sherlock blinks once as his gaze narrows.  
Somehow, this is about your children.

Jeff looks away and sighs deeply. Ohh." He looks at Sherlock again. "You are good, ain't you?"

"He's warming up."

"But how?" Sherlock questions.

"When I die, they won't get much, my kids. Not a lot of money in driving cabs."

"Or serial killing." He points out.

"You'd be surprised."

"Surprise me." Sherlock demands.

Jeff leans forward and whispers with a slight smile on his face. "I have a sponsor."

Sherlock leans forward on his elbows. "You have a what?"

"For every life I take, money goes to my kids." Sherlock has no reaction, but I'm disgusted. "The more I kill, the better off they'll be. You see?" he smirks slightly. "It's nicer than you think."

I am shocked. "That…is…sick."

Sherlock frowns. "Who'd sponsor a serial killer?"

Jeff instantly demands. "Who'd be a fan of Sherlock Holmes?" They stare at each other for a moment. I'm tempted to add a comment, but I don't want to add to his desire for an appreciative audience, so I remain silent."You're not the only one to enjoy a good murder. There's others out there just like you," Sherlock's head jerks sharply. "except you're just a man ... and they're so much more than that."

Sherlock's nose twitches in distaste. "What do you mean, more than a man?" Jeff doesn't answer. Sherlock then demands. "An organization? What?"

"There's a name no-one says, and I'm not gonna say it either." I sense that Sherlock's planning how to get him to confess the name. Jeff's a difficult one to get to talk, so I hope Sherlock won't have to do anything too drastic to get him to talk. "Now, enough chatter." He nods down to the bottles. "Time to choose."

Sherlock looks down to the bottles, his eyes moving from one to the other. "What if I don't choose either? I could just walk out of here." Sherlock points out. Sighing in exasperation, Jeff lifts up the pistol and points it at Sherlock.

My stomach jumps for a second and I swallow. "He's got a point…there."

"You can take your fifty-fifty chance, or I can shoot you in the head." Sherlock smiles calmly at him. "Funnily enough, no-one's ever gone for that option."

"I'll have the gun, please."

Sherlock's calm voice causes me to choke on the saliva I was swallowing. I look at him to find him calm and complacent. "What?" I hack out in shock. "No!"

Jeff seems slightly surprised. "Are you sure?"

Sherlock is still smiling broadly. "Definitely. The gun."

"What? Are you crazy?"

"You don't wanna phone a friend?" Jeff asks. "What about her?"

"She'll be fine." Sherlock smiles confidently. "The gun."

* * *

**Sorry about the delay, but I had a severe throat infection and a fever, fortunately, after a visit to the doctor, I'm feeling much better now. I think I got all the typos, but I'm not sure, apologies if there's anything too out of place.**


	11. Alternate Meeting Part 10

Alternate Meeting Part 10

* * *

"SHERLOCK!" I scream in terror, reaching out quickly to pull Sherlock out of the direction of the bullet. We hit the floor with a thud!

For some stupid reason, the gun doesn't go off; all I hear is a click instead of a bang. I whip my head around to see a small flame coming out of the end of the gun. It was then I realize that it's not a real gun. It's a cigarette lighter. "Oh, for God's sake!" Sherlock groans as he pulls himself back up into the chair. "It's not real!"

"What?" I gasp for air as Sherlock smiles smugly down at me, yanking me up back into my chair. "I know a real gun when I see one." He grins slightly at me, as I clasp a hand onto my rapidly heaving chest. "Totally had you." I can't say anything just yet, so I smack him upside the head. He glowers at me. "Don't do that again."

I smack him again for good measure and exhale shakily. "Shut up."

Jeff releases the trigger causing the flame to go out. "None of the others did."

"Clearly, even Tammy couldn't tell." Sherlock straightens up slightly. "Well, this has been very interesting. I look forward to the court case." He stands up and walks towards the door without looking back at me. "Tammy, come on."

He didn't have to tell me twice. Like I was going to just sit there with a nut like Jeff! What kind of insane girl did Sherlock think I was? Jeff puts the gun onto the desk and calmly turns in his seat. "Just before you go, did you figure it out," Sherlock stops at the door and half-turns towards him; his expression giving nothing away. "which one's the good bottle?"

"Of course." Sherlock said in a dismissive, bland tone. "Child's play."

"Well, which one, then?" Sherlock opens the door a little but shows no sign of leaving the room. "Which one would you have picked, just so I know whether I could have beaten you?"  
Sherlock closes the door again as Jeff chuckles. "Come on. Play the game." He taunts.

I exhale. "You know that he's beaten you."

Slowly Sherlock walks back towards him. When he gets to the table, he snatches the bottle in front of Jeff, and then walks past him. I stand there, looking at Sherlock Jeff looks down at the other bottle. "Oh. Interesting." He picks up the other bottle as Sherlock looks down at the bottle in his own hand. Jeff's voice gives nothing away as he opens the bottle and takes out the pill. "So what do you think?" He looks up at Sherlock as Sherlock examines his pill in the bottle. "Shall we? Really, what do you think?" He stands up now, facing Sherlock, his voice being persuasive. "Can you beat me? Are you clever enough to bet your life?"

I snap. "He doesn't need to bet his life to prove that he's clever enough, he found you in one day while the police have been on the case for weeks! He _is _cleverer than you." heat rises to the tips of my ears. "God, I can't believe I admitted that out loud."

"You stay out of this," Jeff sneers at me as he focuses on Sherlock, to my misfortune, I think Sherlock's intrigued. "I bet you get bored, don't you? I know you do. A man like you," Sherlock undoes the lid of the bottle. "so clever."

"Sherlock." I state in a warning tone. "Don't."

But Jeff's voice has more control over Sherlock's than mine does. "But what's the point of being clever if you can't prove it?" Sherlock takes out the capsule and holds it between his thumb and finger, raising it to the light to examine it more closely. "Still the addict." Slowly Sherlock lowers the pill again, holding it at eye level and gazing at it somewhat longingly. "But this ... this is what you're really addicted to, ain't it?"

Sherlock holds the pill in his fingers and stares at it. "Sherlock." I order in a firm enough tone to cause him to blink. "No. you don't have to prove anything, least of all to someone like him! If it was a reputable person, fine, but don't be an idiot and prove it to a psychopathic murder!"

Jeff reaches around behind me, catching my mouth in his hand. I struggle against his grip, which is surprisingly strong. "God, she can talk!" Sherlock blinks, but decides that I'm not in enough trouble to intervene. "You'd do anything ... _anything_ at all," Sherlock's fingers begin to tremble with excitement and anticipation. "to stop being bored." Slowly Sherlock begins to move the pill closer to his mouth. At this point, I begin to fight against Jeff's grip as Jeff matches the movement with his own pill. "You're not bored now, are you?" Each of their hands gets closer to their own mouth. "Ain't it good?"

I break free from Jeff and lunge at Sherlock as a real gunshot rings out. I scream as I spin around to see Jeff falling towards the ground, a bullet in his chest close to the heart. The splintering of wood informs me that the bullet went through and smashed the door behind him. Sherlock drops his pill in surprise, grabs me and pushes me to the ground, in case the man decides to take a second shot.

Sherlock slides over the desk behind him and hurries to the window, bending down to stare through the bullet hole in the glass, probably deducing what kind of gun was used. I peer up to see that there is nobody in sight opposite, so they must have taken off as soon as they took the shot. Sherlock straightens up and looks at me as I stand up shakily, my hands are trembling badly. "You alright?" I ask him.

"Fine. And you?"

"Shaky, but fine." At that moment, Jeff begins breathing heavily and he coughs a few times. I turn towards him and hurry forward as I see the huge puddle of blood pooling behind Jeff's shoulder. I grab the scarf from around Sherlock's neck, and he makes a face at me. "He's bleeding." I point out as I kneel down, wadding up the scarf in a ball, I stick it under Jeff's shoulder, attempting to control the bleeding. I groan, I don't know what to do, I don't know anything. I ask Sherlock. "What do I do to stop the bleeding?"

However, Sherlock has found one of the pills and he decides to kneel by Jeff as he convulses on the floor and his body begins to go into shock. "Was I right?" Jeff turns his head away while I look up at Sherlock in disbelief. "I was, wasn't I? Did I get it right?"

Jeff doesn't reply. "For God's sake!" I snap angrily at him. "Now is not the time! It doesn't matter"

Sherlock angrily hurls the pill across the room and stands up. "Okay, tell me this: your sponsor. Who was it? The one who told you about me, my 'fan'." Sherlock spits out his demand. "I want a name."

Jeff shakes his head weakly. "No."

"You're dying," my head shoots up at his words. "and in spite of all her feeble attempts and pathetic begging, there's still time to hurt you. Give me a name." Jeff shakes his head. Angrily, Sherlock lifts his foot and puts it onto Jeff's shoulder!

Jeff groans in pain as I shout. "Stop it! Sherlock!"

"A name." Sherlock demands as Jeff cries out in pain, my stomach churns at the sound of the squishing blood. "Now."

"Sherlock!"

His face is positively maniacal as Sherlock leans his full weight onto his foot. Jeff lets out a strangle cry as Sherlock shouts furiously. "The NAME!"

In agony, Jeff cries out. "MORIARTY!"

My head shoots up and my heart stops in my chest at the name I hadn't heard in so long. I whisper. "Moriarty."

Jeff's eyes close and his head rolls to the side. Sherlock steps back, turning his head away and looking reflective. After a few seconds, he silently mouths the word 'Moriarty' to himself.

I stand up, retrieving Sherlock's scarf from underneath Jeff's shoulder, the blood drips down the scarf onto my hands. Sherlock looks at his scarf in distaste. "You ruined it." I didn't answer him. His eyes flash as he stepped towards me. 'You said Moriarty, do you know Moriarty?" he demands. "Tell me!"

I slap at him as he approaches me and I shout. "Moriarty was my stepmother's maiden name and the name of her son! But it won't do you any good because she's dead and I haven't seen him since he ran away!"

Sherlock eyes me for a moment. "You're upset."

"Oh, God," I shout. "you're such a stupid idiot! I almost got shot, I watched you torture a man for some information in his final moments and now you're going to interrogate me? Of course I'm upset!"

He blinks and looks to Jeff's body. "You were helping him."

I stare at him. "Well what was I supposed to do? He was shot, I assume that the police wanted him alive for a trial and you weren't doing anything!"

He snorted. "He didn't deserve it!"

"No, he didn't," I pointed out. "but give me ten good reasons why I should have turned my back on him and then I'll agree with you." a door got kicked open behind us and I screamed in terror as Lestrade and a dozen other officers came swarming in. at that moment, a peculiar buzzing filled my head and I knew what was going to happen. I turned to Sherlock as my vision began to blur. "I think…I'm gonna-

That's all I said as I fell to the ground, but I felt strong arms catch me before I fell completely into unconsciousness.


	12. Alternate Meeting Part 11

**Alternate Meeting Part 11**

* * *

I moan as I find myself looking up at the celing of an ambulance. "She's stirring." I groan as I force myself to sit up, my head aches. "Easy!" one of the paramedic's says to me. "You can't do that!

I look towards the ambulance exit, spotting Sherlock sitting on the end of the ambulance, as always, he's whining. "Why have I got this blanket? They keep putting this blanket on me."

"Yeah," Lestrade points out. "it's for shock."

Sherlock snaps in indignation, probably wondering why everyone thinks that he doesn't know that he's not in shock. "I'm not in shock."

Lestrade looks towards me. "And you?"

I yawn. "I'm fine."

"Easy." One of the paramedics says as they attempt to lay me flat on my back again.

"Stop that, I'm fine." I insist as I push them away. "I just want to go home."

"Why does everyone think I'm in shock?" Sherlock asks.

"Some of the guys wanna take photographs." He grins. Sherlock rolls his eyes.

I snort and comment as I stand up. "With _that _face?" I sway slightly and one of the paramedics grab onto my arms. "They're not going to sell very many papers, but I bet they're going to have a lot of people unsubscribing that very hour."

"So, the shooter." Sherlock asks. "No sign?"

"Cleared off before we got here. But a guy like that would have had enemies, I suppose. One of them could have been following him but," he shrugs. "got nothing to go on."

Sherlock looks at him pointedly. "Oh, I wouldn't say that."

"Oh," I groan in adgitation. "God, here it comes."

Now it's Lestrade's turn to roll his eyes. "Okay, gimme."

Sherlock stands up, allowing me to pass him by. Lestrade helps me down from the ambulance as Sherlock rattles off. "The bullet they just dug out of the wall's from a hand gun. Kill shot over that distance from that kind of a weapon, that's a crack shot you're looking for, but not just a marksman; a fighter. His hands couldn't have shaken at all, so clearly he's acclimatised to violence." I frown as the wheels in my head beging clickikng. "He didn't fire until I was in immediate danger," my head shot up and I looked around for John. "though, so strong moral principle. You're looking for a man probably with a history of military service," I elbow him as he's talking, he turns his head to look around the area and sees John standing some distance away behind the police tape. "and nerves of steel." He trails off. As John looks back at him innocently and then turns his head away, Sherlock begins to realise the connection. Lestrade turns to follow Sherlock's gaze and Sherlock turns back to him before he can start to ask questions. "Actually, do you know what? Ignore me."

Lestrade does a double take. "Sorry?"

"Ignore all of that." Sherlock begins floundering for an excuse. "It's just the, er, the shock talking."

I snort and begin laughing as he starts to walk towards John. "Where're you going?" Lestrade asks as Sherlock turns and walks away.

"I just need to talk about the-the rent."

I add for good measure. "It's due and he's broke."

"But I've still got questions for you." Lestrade points out.

Sherlock turns back towards him in irritation. "Oh, what now? I'm in shock! Look, I've got a blanket!" He lifts up the blanket at Lestrade as if to prove it. I begin laughing uncontrollably. "_She's _in shock too! Should get her home."

"Sherlock!" Lestrade protests.

"And I just caught you a serial killer," Sherlock points out. "more or less."

Lestrade looks at him thoughtfully for a moment. I think he knows that Sherlock knows who the gunman is, but mustn't consider them a threat, otherwise he would have told him immediately. "Okay. We'll bring you in tomorrow. Off you go."

Sherlock walks away and Lestrade smiles as he watches him go. As we approach John, Sherlock takes the blanket from around his shoulders and tosses the blanket through the open window of the car and ducks under the police tape. He hold the tape up for me and I duck under it. he looks at me. "You are ok, aren't you? no more fainting or…anything like that?"

I nod. "Nothing like that. I'm fine now."

"Good."

He turns towards John, fixing his coat and burying his hands in the coat as John begins speaking. "Um, Sergeant Donovan's just been explaining everything, the two pills." John is really a bad actor, he's going to have to work on that. "Been a dreadful business, hasn't it? Dreadful."

Sherlock looks at him for a moment before quietly stating. "Good shot."

John tries to look innocent, but he fails miserably. "Yes. Yes, must have been, through that window."

"Well, you'd know." John tries unsuccessfully not to let his expression give him away, but it doesn't work.

"Give it up John, I knew it before Sherlock did."

"Need to get the powder burns out of your fingers." Sherlock says, ignoring me. "I don't suppose you'd serve time for this, but let's avoid the court case." John clears his throat and looks around nervously. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, of course I'm all right."

"Well, you have just killed a man. After Tammy tried to save the man, she collapsed physically and upon awakening has collapsed into several insufferable bouts of giggles."

"Shut up," I order Sherlock. "before I tell them about the bloodstain on the bottom of your shoe."

John frowns at us, but decides to help change the atmosophere. "Yes, I ... that's true, ain't?" He smiles under the careful, penetrating gaze of Sherlock Holmes. "But he wasn't a very nice man." John points out.

Sherlock nods in agreement. "No. No, he wasn't really, was he?"

"And frankly a bloody awful cabbie." John adds.

Sherlock chuckles, then turns and starts to walk away. "That's true. He was a bad cabbie. Should have seen the route he took us to get here!"

John laughs and Sherlock smiles. "Stop! Stop, we can't giggle, it's a crime scene!" John's words only serve to cause me to start laughing. " Stop it!"

"You're the one who shot him." Sherlock points out. "Don't blame me."

I laugh loudly. "Keep your voice down!" John says as I look up as we walk past Sally Donovan. "Sorry, it's just, um, nerves, I think."

Sherlock turns to sally with a semi-apologetic expression on his face. "Sorry."

I mutter. "You're really not, but you're a good liar."

John clears his throat as we walk away from sally. "You were gonna take that damned pill, weren't you?" John stops in his tracks and looks at Sherlock.

Sherlock turns back to face him. "Course I wasn't."

"Fibbing Sherlock." I say immediately.

"Biding my time."

"You're such a liar!"

He decides to ignore me and continue to address John. "Knew you'd turn up."

John isn't buying it anymore than I am. "No, you didn't. It's how you get your kicks, isn't it? You risk your life to prove you're clever."

Sherlock frowns. "Why would I do that?"

His question is a challenge that John and I rise to answer in unision. "Because you're an idiot."

Sherlock smiles at us both, it's a brief smile, but a smile nonetheless. "Dinner?"

"Starving." John says.

I nod. "Same here." We start to walk again. I add. "Don't suppose you know of a good Chinese resturaunt? I've got a craving for some orange chicken."

"End of Baker Street, there's a good Chinese stays open til two."

I groan in appreciation. "Thank God. And some beef teriakyi…some egg rolls and some sweet and sour pork."

"You can always tell a good Chinese by examining the bottom third of the door handle." Sherlock adds as he looks at me. "You _are _hungry aren't you? can a woman really at that much food?"

"Just wait and watch me." I wager a guess at his statement. "And you can tell because of how many people have opened the door, correct?"

Sherlock turns towards me and inhales to answer me when John interrupts him. "Sherlock. That's him." I look up to see the man who'd offered us money to spy on Sherlock. I groan, this is _not _going to look good. I look at Sherlock as irritation and ire flashes in his eyes. "That's the man I was talking to you about."

Sherlock looks across at the man with annoyance. "I know _exactly_ who that is." He walks closer to the man and stops, looking at him angrily. John glances around, as if to make a mental note where the police are in case he needs to summon their help if Sherlock decides to hit the man or something.

The man speaks in the same pleasantly cold voice to Sherlock. "So, another case cracked." He sniffs deeply. "How very public spirited ... though that's never really your motivation, is it?"

Rolling his eyes, Sherlock asks. "What are you doing here?"

"As ever, I'm concerned about you."

"Yes," Sherlock snaps out. "I've been hearing about your 'concern'."

He smirks at Sherlock "Always so aggressive. Did it never occur to you that you and I belong on the same side?"

"Oddly enough, no!" Sherlock's eyes widen slightly at the end of that sentence.

"We have more in common than you like to believe. This petty feud between us is simply childish." My head shoots up as a lightbulb goes off in my head. "People will suffer ... and you know how it always upset Mummy."

John frowns as he takes in the words that the man just said. "I upset her? Me?" I begin laughing as the man glowers at him. "It wasn't me that upset her, Mycroft."

"I knew it!" I chortle between laughs as I clap my hands. "I knew it…it was too obvious! Even if the lack of physical resemblance wasn't any help!"

"No, no, wait." John is positively baffled. "Mummy? Who's Mummy?"

"Mother, our mother." Sherlock explains tightly. "This is my brother, Mycroft." John stares at myrcoft in amazement. "Putting on weight again?"

"Losing it, in fact." Mycroft points out.

I shake my head. "I don't think so!"

Mycoft repeats to Sherlock. "He's your brother?!"

Sherlock doesn't even blink. "Of course he's my brother."

"So he's not-

"Not what?" Sherlock asks as John's voice peeterrs out.

Both brothers look at John as he shrugs in embarrassment. "I don't know…criminal mastermind?" He grimaces in embaraeesment at having even suggested it.

Sherlock looks at Mycroft disparagingly. "Close enough."

I laugh. "He's an older brother. Aren't all older brothers criminal masterminds?"

Sherlock looks dispariginly at me. "Can ou go for five minutes without laughing?"

"I could try," I bump my shoulder against his playfully. "but why bother?"

"She is good ,isn't she?" Mycroft looks down his nose as me. "Been together long?"

I make a face and roll my eyes. "No, we're not a couple."

"For goodness' sake," Mycroft explains. "I occupy a minor position in the British government."

"He _is_the British government, when he's not too busy being the British Secret Service or the CIA on a freelance basis." Mycroft sighs and looks down. "Good evening, Mycroft. Try not to start a war before I get home. You know what it does for the traffic." Sherlock grabs my sleeve. "You come on, and not a word to him."

He walks away, dragging me along with him. "Really, why?"

"Because as much as I would like to hear annoy Mycroft, I don't feel up to it tonight. Besides, you said you were hurngy."

"Yes I am." I yank my arm free from his grip and shove my hands into my pockets. "Dear me, I can only imagine what it must be like to sit opposite him for Christmas dinners."

Sherlock makes a face. "Don't try."

"I am. Ughh, the sight of him opposite you must kill ones appetite."

Sherlock chuckles quietly. "Indeed. You know he's not going to pay you anymore."

I nod as I bump him again. "I do, you prawn."

Sherlock frowns. "I don't think they have prawns at this resturaunt."

"I was calling you a name, I wasn't thinking about food."

"Well, considering how-

"Don't you ever stop talking?"

He stops and looks down at me. "Do you?"

"No." unable to resist, I stretch up and kiss him impulsively on the cheek. Those eyes of his widen as I grin at him. "Now, that I've got your brother's mind working overtime, let's go get something to eat!"

He shakes his head and groans. "I really am going to kill your boyfriend."

"Thank you."

John finally catches up to Sherlock and I. "So, dim sum."

"Mmm! I can always predict the fortune cookies."

"No you can't."

"Almost can. You did get shot, though."

"Sorry?"

"In Afghanistan. There was an actual wound."

" Oh, yeah. Shoulder."

"Shoulder! I thought so."

"No you didn't."

"The left one."

"Lucky guess."

"I never guess."

John laughs. "Yes you do." He looks at a smiling Sherlock. "What are you so happy about?"

"Moriarty."

"What's Moriarty?"

And as always, his response is too cheerful. "I've absolutely no idea."


	13. The Chinese restaurant

The Chinese restaurant

* * *

Sherlock reached over and took my fork out of my hand. I glowered at him. "What are you doing?"

"We're at a Chinese restaurant," he points out. "don't you realize what an insult it is to ask for a fork?"

My eyes flash. "I believe it would be an even bigger insult not to eat the food, which is what's going to happen, because I cannot handle chopsticks."

Sherlock rolls his eyes as he reaches for the chopsticks. "Typical American, always in a rush, even for eating."

"Well, the foods here, I'm starving and I assume that idea is to leave here with a full stomach, am I correct?"

John nods. "Look, Sherlock, she can eat with a fork, it's no big deal."

Sherlock glowers at him. "It makes too much noise, I'm thinking."

"Well, excuse me!" I say mockingly. "By all means Mr. Holmes, oh, wise and powerful teacher, by all means, teach me how to use chopsticks properly so I don't interrupt your brain from working while it's in motion!"

Sherlock shook his head and leaned closer to me as he folded his long fingers around my hand. John crossed his arms and shook his head as Sherlock proceeded to show me how to hold the chopstick and use them properly. My stomach let out a super loud gurgle and he looked down at my stomach before looking up at me.

I shrug innocently. "Told you I was hungry."

"What you didn't say is that you hadn't eaten in twelve hours." Sherlock releases my hand and hands me back my fork. "Here you go."

My eyes almost pop out of their sockets as I accept the fork. "Thanks."

"Eat."

"I've been trying to do that, remember?"

Sherlock offers no comment as I begin eating. John and I converse as Sherlock sit's there in silence, thinking. However, as the meal drew nearer to the end, he began to converse with us. Fortunately, we stopped with the barbs to each other as we conversed. Sherlock Holmes was an interesting, unusual, frustrating man, but I liked him.

I picked up my fortune cookie and looked at Sherlock. "Well, are you going to make a prediction?"

He blinks and looks at my cookie and me. "I'm predicting something along the lines of love and matrimony."

I smile and look at him as I open up my fortune cookie. But my smile fades as I look at the words on the paper. _You will get your wish, a baby. _I close my paper and set it on the table, shaking my head.

Sherlock grabs it and I glower at him as I reach for it. "Hey!"

He opens it up and looks at it. He frowns in confusion at me. "Well, why should this upset you?" I remain silent; allow him to deduce my body language as I lean forward on my elbows. "Ahh, you think it's not going to happen?" I nod as he shrugs it off. "I wouldn't worry about it; there are more important things to be upset about."

Against my will, I smile at him. "Open yours."

Sherlock opens his and looks at it with one brow raised. He slaps his on his plate. "These things are utter nonsense."

"What did it say?" I question as I reach for it. Sherlock grabs it and I reach for it. "Come on!"

"No." I shake my head as I wrestle for it and I'm somehow able to wrench the paper from his hand. "Give me that."

"John!" I hand to John just as Sherlock grabs a hold of my wrists. "What's it say?"

John clears his throat and opens it while Sherlock glowers at me. It says…a wedding soon."

I arch a brow at it as well before asking. "So, who's the lucky girl?"

"Well," Sherlock says. "it's not you."

"I know that! There must be some other girl active in your life other than me." His silence informs me that I'm wrong. I exhale deeply as he releases my wrists. "Ouch." I clear my throat and turn to John. "Open yours and allow the air of awkwardness to leave the room."

John nods as he reaches for his. "Uhm, right." He looks at us. "I hope the two of you aren't…always going to be like that."

Sherlock frowns at him. "Like what?"

"Well, you two _do _act like a couple." Sherlock and I both groan in unison. "Not that you two can help it, it just….comes across that way."

I clear my throat and ask. "Speaking of coming across that way….what kind of face was I making earlier? I'd really like to know."

John held his fortune in his hand. "Uhm, I don't know. I thought it was kind of a look of …admiration, or….you were impressed."

I look at Sherlock for a second then look back to John. "Oh well, he's a Vulcan sociopath, he doesn't understand these kind of things."

John chuckles as Sherlock frowns. "What's a Vulcan?"

I ignore him and ask John. "What's your say?"

He clears his throat. "You'll always be a bachelor."

I shake my head. "We got a rubbish batch. I say we forget all of them and go home."

John nods. "Sounds great."

Sherlock asks me. "Did you get your bed assembled?"

I don't even bother to ask him how he knew it still was sitting up above in my flat in pieces. "No, I didn't, but I plan to."

"I was actually going to suggest that John offer you some assistance, since women aren't very good at that sort of thing."

I look at him indignantly. "No, if you think I need help, then you volunteer your services, not John's."

"Why?"

"Because you can't speak for him."

"He's got nothing on."

"Neither do you. Besides, while you help me put my bed together, you can tell me what the eyeballs were doing in the microwave."

He looks down at me curiously. "Are you really interested?"

I nod. "Yes, I really am." At his silence, I add. "You seem surprised. Why?"

"Why should you be interested?"

"Because I am. Well, are you going to help and tell me about it or what?"

To his credit, he decided to tell me all about why the eyeballs were in the microwave, and it actually was very interesting.


	14. Alternate First kiss: Take 1

**And now we go onto the next section. The alternate first kiss! ****Don't forget, if you've read the 7 other Sherlock fics I've written, this will make better sense. But if you're having fun, then continue having fun. I almost forgot to mention guests ARE allowed to submit requests as well, if they so desire.**

* * *

Alternate First kiss: Take 1

* * *

Sherlock and I jump out of the taxi. I throw the taxi driver 50 pounds and jump out with him. Sherlock takes off running towards the tunnel and I follow after him. Sherlock stops suddenly and I crash into him, almost falling on my rear end. "Now, you wait out here and find a place to hide."

I shake my head. "No, I'm going with you."

"No."

"In instances like this I only feel safe when I'm next to you." His eyes narrow as I move towards the tunnel. "Come on! We don't have time for this!"

Sherlock grumbles. "You seem to have annoying fascination with me."

I roll my eyes. "Not you, just the fascination with things going on _around _you. It's not my fault you happen to be in the center of everything interesting."

Sherlock holds up his hand as we progress into the tunnel, signaling me to be silent. Water, laps at my open toed shoes, making them stick. The tunnel is lit at the ends. I can see John tied to a chair. Sarah is tied to a chair, and that weapon from the circus is down here. The sand is lowering the weight towards the cup; I know we only have a few moments before Sarah winds up being skewered.

John begins to shout frantically. "I'm not Sherlock Holmes!"

The woman sneers coldly. "I don't believe you."

Sherlock inhales, takes a hold of my hand and speaks loudly. "You should, you know." I risk a glance up at him; his eyes are sparkling brightly with the thrill of the hunt. I shake my head slightly in disapproval and amusement. "Sherlock Holmes is nothing at all like him." The woman cocks her gun and Sherlock pulls me behind some large storage containers. Someone starts to hurry towards us and Sherlock bends down and picks up a metal pipe. "How would you describe me, John? Resourceful? Dynamic?"

"Enigmatic?" I whisper.

His brow arches approving. "Enigmatic?" He clicks the 'c' as he whispers to me. "Good one."

"Idiot." His brow arches in amusement. "Not the time!"

John exhales in relief and offers. "Late?"

Sherlock's voice bounces off the walls. "That's a semi-automatic. If you fire it, the bullet will travel at over a thousand meters per second." He grabs my hand and pulls me behind another storage container. "Follow me."

"I thought I was doing that."

The woman is silent for a moment. "Well?" At that moment, I see her henchman approaching us.

"Well," Sherlock pops up from behind the container and whacks the man across the stomach. The man grunts and collapses to the ground. Sherlock immediately ducks back behind the container. "the radius curvature of these walls is nearly four meters. If you miss, the bullet will ricochet. Could hit anyone. Might even bounce off the tunnel and hit you." He looks at me and hisses. "Stay flat on the ground."

I nod and lay flat on my stomach, wincing as the cold water soaks the front of my evening dress. I watch as Sherlock runs to the burning dustbin, kicking it over, effectively surrounding me in complete darkness. I peer into the darkness and against his orders; crawl slowly forward so I can see the action better. I can't see Sherlock until he suddenly reappears behind Sarah and he's untying her bonds. However, another man comes up behind him and loops a long red scarf around his throat a couple of times.

"Sherlock! Look out!" I shout too late.

Sherlock cries out and stands up, tugging at the part of the scarf around his neck as the man pulls it tight. I would have gone, but that other villain was starting to get up. I feel around for Sherlock's lead pipe and locate it. I swung wildly, smacking him upside the head, knocking him unconscious for certain this time. I bite my lip as I begin searching his unconscious body for a weapon. Unfortunately, he's not carrying a single weapon! I groan in irritation. What has gotten into the criminal classes? Doesn't anyone have the sense to carry a gun!? Or at least a knife!? I have yet to watch a single gangster movie where the bad guy didn't have a weapon on him. Maybe this guy's weapons were his hands ant that wasn't going to do me any good in this case. So where was Spock when I needed him?

My heart stops as I hear that the arrow is fired. I look up to see that it's buried into the stomach of the man who was strangling Sherlock. Sarah is all right and so is John as near as I can tell. I exhale deeply Sherlock stands up and looks around.

I look up at the sound of approaching, running footsteps. It's that woman. I tighten my grip on the pipe. The woman is intent on focusing on her escape that she doesn't notice my dark shape on the ground. I bring the pipe back and whack her in the knees! The gun goes off, firing straight ahead into the tunnel, injuring nobody.

"Tammy!?' Sherlock shouts at me. I hit her over the head and she lets out a loud groan as she falls to the ground. I inhale, cough, and then grab her weapon before standing up. "Tammy are you all right?"

"I'm fine." I stand up and promptly slip on the water and fall backwards. "Ow!"

"Now what!?"

I wipe my wet nose. "You owe me a new formal dress, Sherlock Holmes."

He laughs briefly before turning back towards Sarah. Sherlock takes the scarf from around his neck and then drops to his knees beside Sarah, his voice is uncharacteristically kind. "It's all right." He assures her as he removes her gag. "You're gonna be all right. It's over now. It's over."

Sarah begins to sob as John smiles wearily as he looks up at her from his position on the floor. "Don't worry. Next date won't be like this."

She continues to sob as Sherlock straightens up and stands behind her, putting a reassuring hand on her shoulder. I smile at his actions, but the sounds of approaching footsteps cause me to jump. "Sherlock?"

"It's the police." He says as he moves towards John. "Put that gun down Tammy, you look silly."

"Says the man who's trussed up in a red scarf."

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, we're all outside in the cold air. John has his arm around Sarah and her shock blanket. John's escorting her home so I probably won't be seeing them again this evening. What a date! Women dating John or Sherlock should sign wavers! Sherlock stops to talk to the inspector, I wait beside him, rubbing my cold arms.

"We'll just slip off. No need to mention us in your report."

I blink and stare at Sherlock. _He _cracked the case. Why did he not want any credit for it? He deserved it! The inspector is shocked as well. "Mr. Holmes-

Sherlock cuts him off. "I have high hopes for you, Inspector. A glittering career."

The man nods before asking. "If I go where you point me?

Sherlock turns and walks away. "Exactly." Unconsciously, he takes a hold of my elbow and guides me away from the scene. I look up at him, watching this man who never ceases to baffle me beyond all belief. He notices me watching him and tries not to notice that I'm obviously ogling him. He finally glares at me. "You're staring at me."

"Making a deduction or an assumption rather." His brows arch in interest. "Pardon me if I can't make them as fast as you, I'm not really staring."

"Point taken. And what did you deduce or assume about me?"

I shake my head seriously. "You're a funny man Sherlock Holmes. You're rude, cold, emotionless, hot tempered, impulsive and at time frankly you're a borderline psychopath."

"High functioning sociopath." He corrects me. "There's a difference."

"But, you're also a very wonderful man," he stops and studies at me, as if looking for a telltale trace that I'm lying to him. I'm not of course and frankly, I don't know why I'm telling him this. "with a sharp sense of wit. You can be kind, humble and even caring at times. You're intelligent, even when you're being so rude; you somehow manage to get away with every single insult. The best part about it is that you're innocently oblivious to the whole thing. Sometimes, even though we average people can feel somewhat stupid around you, it's a mere pleasure to be in your presence when your brainpower is at its highest. It's really worth the humiliation."

"What are you trying to say?" he asks impatiently.

"That…I like you." He definitely wasn't expecting that. His brows arch in surprise. "Not, in a romantic way mind you." I clear my throat uncomfortably, but there is no way he can doubt my sincerity. "But…you're a good friend, I know you don't have friends and don't consider yourself to be one, but…you are. I'm trying to say that….you're a valuable person and I wanted you to know that."

Sherlock gazes down at me in silence. For a moment, I consider bolting and running away, but then he surprises me. "Thank you."

I stare at him in surprise as he continues just…gazing deeply into my eyes. For a moment, I don't know what to do, I feel like I'm drowning inside his eyes. "And thank you for saving my life, earlier this evening."

His voice is deep and hoarse as he gazes deeper into my eyes. "It was nothing."

I'm desperate to change the subject, but I can't think of a thing to say. When Sherlock shifts closer towards me, I gasp out. "What time is it?"

Sherlock doesn't even blink. "Almost 10:30."

"Oh." I bite my lips, nervous, as we're very close now. I've never been this close to him before, and for some reason, he looks…different. I can't see how. "It's late."

He nods his head slightly. "Yes."

I bite my lip and look around the deserted streets. "We should go."

"Should," when I felt his hand on my face I paused where I was, shivers went down my spine at the tone in his voice. "but…why bother?"

I inhale and my voice trembles in my throat as he continues brushing my face. "I-I don't know."

He smirks slightly, those piercing eyes staring straight through me. Then his face sobers, a different sober that was so intense my heart paused in my chest. "What do we do?"

I frowned. "Do? I-I don't know…go home….

He shakes his head. "God, you're dense at times." My brow arches at his words. "What do we do…about this?"

My poor mind was in a blind whirl as I shook it slightly. "I-I don't…

He groaned. "Oh for God's sake!"

Sherlock leaned forward, tilted my face upwards and kissed me! My heart jumped in my throat and a moan came out of my slightly parted lips. Sherlock moved quickly, pulling me close against his chest. Against my will, my hands travelled up to grip the lapels of his coats in my trembling hands. His hand traveled down to my shoulders, pressing my chest deeper against his. He runs his tongue across my lower lip, heat shoots down to my womb and I tremble as I lose myself in the realization that I had feelings for Mr. Sherlock Holmes.

I'm not sure how or when it happened, but I knew by the frantic beating of my heart and the quivering in my limbs that I did have very strong feelings. As his grip around my waist tightened, I came to recognition with the depths of my feelings. I was in love with him. Oh, the thought of that made me moan and tears come to my eyes.

Slowly, ever so slowly, we pulled away. I had my eyes kept closed to a few moments; I couldn't bear to look him in the eye. My heart was aching and hopeful. He leaned forward, brushing his face against my cheek. I trembled, a whimper eased out my mouth as Sherlock groaned.

"Oh for God's sake," he ordered as he jerked away. "stop doing that!" My eyes widened in shock at his words. I look up at his face, but for some reason, I can't understand nor read the look in his eyes. Is he angry? I cannot tell. I feel confusion breaking over me in violent, massive ways. "Well…what do we do about this?"

I shake my head in bafflement. "I-I don't understand-

"Oh for God's sake," I jump as he grabs me by the shoulder and I place my hands up against his chest to stop him. "do I have to kiss you again to make you understand?" I can only shake my head and Sherlock gives me a quick shake. "What's the matter with you?"

"Sorry." That was the first word that came out of my mouth. His eyes narrowed and his gaze lightened. I let out a short laugh. "I'm sorry." I shook my head again. "You…didn't give me a chance to think."

"I'm asking you for the final time…what are…we going to do about this?"

I smile as I run my hand over his shoulder. "I believe that…Mr. Holmes…I need to know what you're feeling before I answer that."

"Why?"

I smile. "Because….I don't wish to be humiliated if…your feelings are not like mine."

"I don't have feelings," my heart dipped in despair at his cold tone. "except…when I'm around you."

I smile as I reach for his hand. I know he won't say much, I can imagine how difficult it must have been for him to admit that he had some feelings for me. Sherlock looks down at my hand as he interlaces our fingers together. "I have feelings for you too Mr. Holmes."

His brow arches and he questions me. "You do?"

I smile. "Yes…I do."

He frowns and tilts his head to the side. "Why?"

I laugh at his expression as I leaned forward against him. "I've no idea…but I'm glad that I do and I think…you're happy too." I squeeze his hand. "Come on, we've got quite a bit of talking to do."

He nods and moves towards the taxi before asking. "Do I really have to buy you a new formal dress?"


	15. Alternate First Kiss: Take 2

**In chapter 56 of 'Gravity,' Sherlock surprises Tammy and Magnussen by admitting he knew everything about Tammy's background. How would Tammy have reacted if she found the file that Mycroft had left for Sherlock to read containing all of her personal info?**

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Alternate First Kiss: Take 2

* * *

"Good morning Sherlock." I proclaimed as I moved towards the kitchen, my hand brushing his shoulder as I passed him by.

"What are you doing down here Tammy?" Sherlock asked, I glanced at him to see that he still hadn't looked up from his microscope. Honestly, he was so often fixated upon whatever he was looking at, I could probably walk by him stark naked and he wouldn't turn a hair.

I cross my arms and study him, leaning my back against the refrigerator door. "I'm out of eggs and I don't want to go down to the store when you have a few I could borrow."

"Why do you say borrow? It's not like I'm getting it back."

I roll my eyes and shake my head, smiling slightly. "Sherlock, I'm making a breakfast bread, you'll get your egg back, I promise."

"Technically, it's not in its shell anymore is it?"

"No, but you are getting it back in a different manner."

"True. Leave a piece for me somewhere and I'll find it."

"Why should I?"

"Leaving for Belarus tomorrow."

"And food on the plane is horrible, right, I got it."

"Thanks."

I offer. "Do you want anything else with it?"

"Nope." He pops the 'p,' letting me know that this conversation between us is over.

I reach for the refrigerator door when I happen to spy a folder in the sink. I shake my head and go to pick it up, but when I do, my heart stops in my chest and my soul is shaken to the core. The file has my name on it. My fingers shake as I flip it open and I'm horrified to find that I was looking at myself.

My stomach curdled violently as I browsed through the pages. Sherlock had everything about me in here, and when I mean everything, I mean _everything. _ This file held my complete history. It told of incidents that happened to me as a child. Such as my father throwing a glass at my aunt and it shattering and pieces of it piercing my eye. It also told of when I'd been molested at school when I was fifteen. The jobs I'd held, my finances, how I'd worked my way up into opening my own wine company and making a fortune.

It had other personal information that I had no idea how they were able to get a hold of. They knew intimate details about me and now, Sherlock Holmes knew every single thing about me. The thought caused me to be frightened to the core. As an American, I desire my complete privacy and the right to have it. Now, I felt violated and a man who I'd completely trusted had violated me.

"What kind of bread?" Sherlock's voice caused me to jump. I felt sick to my stomach as cold chills went down my body. He still hadn't looked up from that bloody microscope. "Nothing with chocolate I hope."

My blood boils in fury to mingle with the hurt that welled up inside me. Why had he done this? My hurt surpassed my anger. I thought we were friends, and he goes and invades my privacy. The nearest thing next to my hand is a saltshaker, which I grab and throw against the wall, shattering it. Sherlock jumps and looks up at me as the peppershaker follows suit.

I shake my head as tears pour down my cheeks. "To Hell with the bread!" I shout in hurt. "Damn you Sherlock Holmes! How dare you! Damn you!"

Sherlock stood up, "What is," then his eyes landed on my file in my hands. His eyes narrow as he begins to figure out what I'm upset about. "now, you weren't supposed to-

"Shut up!" pain mercilessly slashes my heart and soul as I look at him. "How could you do this to me?" I threw the file at him. "Why?"

"Tammy!" Sherlock reaches for me, I open the drawer behind me, which thankfully holds the kitchen utensils, and my hand curls around the rolling pin. I brandish it and Sherlock pauses warily. "Wait a minute. Put that down."

"Shut up!" I shout as I move around the table, heading towards the door. "No, I won't!"

"You're overreacting."

"OVERREACTING?!"

"Yes, you are. Just let me-

"I don't want to hear it Sherlock! How could you?!"

"Tammy, wait!" I ignored Sherlock as I flung the door open and began to run upstairs to my flat. When I heard his door open, I knew he was right behind me. I pulled out my phone and speed dialed John. "Wait a minute!"

I slammed the door to my flat and locked the door before Sherlock could reach me. _Hello? _John's voice on the other end was a comfort to hear. _Tammy?_

"John!" I gasp for air as Sherlock begins pounding on the door. "Get to 221B Baker Street…now! And bring Greg!"

_Tammy, what is it? _John is very concerned.

"Tammy," Sherlock shouts. "open this door or I swear I'll break it down!"

_Is that Sherlock? What's happening?_

"John, yes, it's Sherlock." I fought to keep my voice from trembling. "Please, get here, I don't feel safe."

_What's going on?_

"Sherlock violated," Suddenly, the door opened with a loud cracking and I shrieked as I saw Sherlock holding a sledgehammer in his hand! I screamed at him as I looked at the smashed doorknob. "you can't break the door down!" Granted, I shouldn't have left it outside the door, but I was using it to gently knock the rotted wood of the doorframe off so I could then use a hammer to pull it free. It made sense at the time, now I felt like an idiot. Granted though, I was angry and hurt, but I could still have all those emotions churning in me at once.

"I just did!" Sherlock shouted at me as he stormed towards me. I darted on the opposite end of the couch. I glanced at my phone, John had hung up, probably to call Lestrade. "Now, you're gonna listen to me!"

"Stay away from me," I hold up the rolling pin, I began calculating how to get to the kitchen and grab a frying pan or something. In spite of what most people think, if you're going to be attacked, you pray it's in the kitchen because it's the most dangerous room.

Sherlock darted towards me and I went opposite of him. Suddenly, Sherlock lunged for me, catching me around the waist and taking me to the ground, one hand holding onto my wrist, keeping me from hitting him. I screamed and fought against him. "Let me go! John's on his way!"

He made a face. "What on earth for?"

"It's obvious! Will you get off me?"

"No!"

"What?!"

"Look, what are you so mad about?"

I stared at him. "What am I mad about? Sherlock?" I screamed. "You violated me and my privacy! I didn't want you to know every single inch of my life. God, do you have _any _idea how I feel? If you had any questions you could have asked me!"

"Well," he snapped. "if you knew the reason-

"No! No reason would be good enough!" I began crying hard as the rolling pin slipped from my fingers. "I thought…we were friends!"

"We weren't _friends_." He spat the word 'friends' out of his mouth.

"I can't believe I just said that! Excuse me!" I closed my eyes and jerked my head to the side. I could bear this anymore. "Get off me!"

"We were never friends Tammy because we were much more than that." Those words and a hand on my cheek caused my eyes to fly open and look up at Sherlock Holmes in shock.

I frowned up at Sherlock in complete and utter confusion as he leaned forward, gently brushing the tears streaming down my cheeks away. I wanted to speak, but I couldn't, for some reason, his touch calmed me. Whether or not he was counting on his touch to do that, I don't know.

But when he leaned closer towards me, as if to kiss me, I placed my hands on his chest, asking him to stop. After all, I didn't want my first kiss from him, _if _we were going to kiss at all, to be with me flat on my back! It was a dangerous position for me!

"Sherlock." I spoke, vexed to find that I couldn't speak any louder than a whisper. "What are you-

He didn't listen to me. He leaned forward and kissed me gently on the lips. The moment our lips touched, my heart stopped beating to only sing out joyfully. I moaned as I brought my arms up around his neck. Sherlock pulled me up from my back to my knees, keeping me locked in his embrace as he pulled me against him.

All anger whooshed out of me as he held me close as I held onto him. After several moments, we pulled apart, both breathing lightly on each other's faces. Sherlock helped me up and I couldn't look at him, I refused to do so until I'd collected my thoughts.

A gentle brush of lips on my forehead brought me to my senses. Sherlock turned, without a word and moved to head towards the stairs. "What were you just doing?" I asked in a stronger voice than I thought I could muster.

Sherlock turned towards me, slightly confused by my question. "If you don't know then I must have been doing it wrong."

He stepped towards me and I held up my hands. "No! No!" I hastened to assured him. "I know what happened. But I don't know," I shook my head before demanding. "why did you do that?"

He frowned at me. "Isn't it obvious?"

"If you were any other man in the world Sherlock Holmes," I stated. "it would be obvious. I'd say the man was in love with me, but you're not!"

He shrugged. "Let's not jump to conclusions."

I gasped and stared at him. "What?!" I began shaking my head. "No, no you're not! That's impossible."

He stepped closer towards me. "Why would it be impossible?"

I struggled to think of an excuse, but I couldn't come up with anything. Then, I remembered my file downstairs and all of a sudden, his actions made sense! I now saw why he needed to know every, single, little thing about me. But even the knowledge of why didn't help or console me at all.

"You did a _complete and thorough _background research on me to see if I was suitable enough to meet up with your qualifications!"

"Oh for God's sake Tammy!" he snapped at me. "This is a big step for me! What else did you expect me to do? Before I even entertain the ideas of a relationship with anyone, I must check them out to make sure they don't have any hidden secrets!"

"I would have told you anything you wanted to know about me!"

"People lie." He said bluntly.

"I don't." I stated. "I've _never _lied to you Sherlock Holmes and you know that!"

I look down at my feet, rubbing my arms as Sherlock stepped closer to me, backing me up against the couch. I hoisted myself up onto the back and looked up at him as he gently tilted my face up. "I'm sorry." He admitted. "Forgive me."

I nod my head and smile slightly. "I'm sorry too. Forgive me?"

He nods as he brushes my cheek gently. "I believe I shall, in a moment."

My heart fluttered in my chest. "What are you-

"I'm going to kiss you," he said quietly as he drew closer. "unless you have any objections."

Heat filled my cheeks as I shook my head, leaning forward slightly. "I have none."

"Good. Because…I believe I shall be kissing you quite often now, if it's agreeable to you."

I smiled and nodded my head. "Yes, it is agreeable to me."

Then, our lips met. It was a wonderful kiss. Sherlock, I could tell he was inexperienced, but his inexperience delighted me. However, the touch, the taste of the kiss itself electrified every inch of me. I registered Sherlock's hands on my waist, bringing me closer to him. He placed his hands on my waist. I moved my legs over, allowing him to step in closer to me, which he did and I locked my legs around his knees.

Sherlock nudged my hands up to his shoulders to intertwine my fingers in his hair. I was drowning in this moment. As I brushed his neck, I could sense that Sherlock was enjoying my touch as much as I was enjoying his. Every touch seemed to demand more and we tentatively explored each other's mouth, face and body with gentle and curious fingers, lost in the heat of the moment.

Suddenly, the door banged open with a loud slam. Sherlock and I whipped around to see John, Greg, Andersen, sally and half a dozen officers looking in at us in utter shock.

Sherlock looked down at me, irritation in his eyes. "Tammy."

"Sorry. You were," my voice died and I shook my head. "never mind."

"Tell _them _that." He said sliding me off the couch. He narrowed his eyes at John. "I hope you weren't planning to shoot me with that." I followed his gaze to the gun in John's hand. Sherlock looked down at me in amusement. "Makes me feel good to know that you've got a protector around."

"Now," Greg stammered out. "hold on a minute….what happened?"

"Uhh," I cleared my throat and flailed my hands uselessly for a moment before looking to Sherlock. "what _did _happen?"

He laughs at me. "That kiss took that much out of you, then?" I could only nod in embarrassment. "Well, now I know how to shut you up." I elbow him.

Sally speaks. "You were kissing!"

Sherlock frowns at her. "Of course I was kissing her! What else did it look like?"

"Now, hold on," John stated as he handed the gun back to one of the officers. "Tammy, you called and said Sherlock had-

"I panicked!" I said quickly. "I-I wasn't….thinking clearly." I shook my head. "Frankly…I still am somewhat." Sherlock smirked at me, obviously pleased with my reaction towards him.

"What happened to the door?" Greg asked.

Sherlock shrugged carelessly. "I broke it down with the sledge hammer."

"You," John stammered. "broke the door down….with a sledge hammer."

Sherlock straightened and frowned as he explained why it made complete sense. "Of course I did, she wouldn't let me in!"

"I trust you're paying for it." Greg asks.

Sherlock shakes his head. "No, her door, she pays for it." I roll my eyes as he walks out of the room. "I'll pick you up for dinner tonight Tammy, 7:30."

I nod shakily. "Alright."

He pushed past Greg and the others. "I've got work to do. You can sort this out."

"Yeah. Sure, thanks." I said sarcastically as he moved down the stairs without a second look back at me. I brush my hair back from my face and look at the group of people as I shrug. "Sorry about that."

"Are you alright?" Greg asked. "He didn't hurt you did he?"

"Not the way you'd imagine it, I'm fine, honest. I'm sorry." I exhaled. "He had, done something that at the time was horrible and unforgiveable. But….I believe I can forgive the incident, as it brought this to light. It make have taken him weeks to speak up!"

"So," John asks the obvious question that's on his mind. "you and Sherlock?" he pauses for a moment before asking. "You two are dating now?"

I smile as I flush. "I believe we are."


	16. Alternate First Kiss: Take 3

**Alternate take on chapters 11 and 12 in 'I won't send roses'.**

* * *

**Alternate first kiss: Take 3**

* * *

"Hey!" Mrs. Hudson said. "What have you done to my bloody wall?" Sherlock simply turned and smiled that, 'I'm all innocent' smile/smirk of his. I rolled my eyes and attempted to hide my giggle but I was failing miserably. "I'm putting this on your rent young man!"

"I can take care of it Mrs. Hudson." I offer. "It won't cost anyone a thing."

"Thank you Tammy. I'll take something off your rent for that."

"No, don't bother Mrs. Hudson, it's nothing."

"Honestly, you two really should get together." I flush red and bite my lip as Mrs. Hudson bustles down the stairs. "You two are perfect together."

I don't know where to look or what to say. The atmosphere becomes awkward between us. I shivered. "I think she's…had a rum toddy or two more than is good for her."

"She's actually dead sober and thinking rather intelligently for once."

I don't know how to respond to that, so I turn to look towards the wall. "A yellow smiley face?" I gesture towards it. "Don't tell me that's the paint from your last case?"

"Possibly." I look towards him to see that the corners of his mouth were turned up slightly, as if he were attempting not to smile.

"You must have been terrible as a child." I smirked. "Did you paint the walls in your nursery by any chance?"

"No."

"I painted my mother's piano when I was little. I put pink hand prints all over it." I said with a persuasive smile, I knew Sherlock was lying about painting. He painted something, it wasn't his nursery wall, but it was something. "An Alma-Tadema Steinway, the world's most expensive piano."

"Now that I think on it, I do recall attempting to repaint Vincent Van Gogh's 'Starry, Starry Night' on mother's blue bedroom carpet. I'd been left to my own devices and-"

"You were bored." I finished for him.

Suddenly there was a huge explosion that blew the windows behind Sherlock out with one terrific flash and bang! The impact of the explosion caused Sherlock to fly forward into me, knocking me flat on my back. Our forehead's bumped smartly and my ears began ringing with the sounds of car and fire alarms going off.

Sherlock groaned loudly and I let out a groan as his weight cushioned me into the carpet. "Don't open your eyes. Are you ok?" Sherlock actually sounded concerned to my ears, as he began brushing glass and dirt off my face. "Don't move."

"What just happened?" I struggle to keep my voice calm. "I know it was an explosion, but what kind? A bomb?"

"Possibly. You can open your eyes now." I opened my eyes and I still as I find his face really close to mine. "This is rather interesting position we find ourselves in."

My blood runs cold as I realize that Sherlock did have me pinned in a rather compromising position. Not to mention, he was still in his pajamas. I cannot help but notice how his lower body is pressing against mine. I cleared my throat and reached up to brush some of the glass out of his hair. "Depends on if your mind at this moment is or isn't in the gutter." I pause and touch his cheekbone which was bleeding slightly. As his gaze went to my hand, I decided to explain my actions. "You're bleeding."

"I'm impressed."

"That I noticed that you're bleeding?"

"No." He studied me harder. "That you're doing a good job of hiding your emotions."

"I'm a singer; acting is part of the job." I finally made full eye contact and my heart froze in my chest. I licked my lips and Sherlock's eyes went down to my mouth. "Now, are you going to get off me, or were you just getting comfortable?"

Sherlock smirked. "It actually is quite comfortable."

My blood ran cold. He wasn't really saying such things to me in a moment like this? "Please, get off me, there are people injured out there and you're practically propositioning me!"

"Well, I could be."

My jaw dropped in shock and I stuttered out. "Sherlock!"

"I could be, in fact, I think that I might be." Oh, dear God, he looked so serious! "If I were, would it make a difference to you?"

I was somehow able to find my voice. "If I were that kind of woman, which I'm not, I might be interested." I hit his shoulder. "Now get off me!" He did as I asked and he even helped me up. "Thank you!"

I brushed my dress off as Sherlock studied me. "Am I to understand you've never had sex before?"

My ears went red and my mouth opened in shock. "That's none of your business!"

"Have you?"

"I'm not telling you."

He crossed his arms and studied me. "Why on earth not?"

"It's none of your business Sherlock!" I flushed to the tip of my ears. "I don't even see why you're asking me things like this!"

"You haven't!" He grinned and laughed at me. "Why on earth not?"

"I will not discuss this."

"Oh come on now! It's logical to assume that a beautiful girl like you would want to-

I glowered at him. "Don't go putting words into my mouth." I frown and look at him. "_I'm _beautiful?"

"Oh, so you want to? Of course you are."

"Yes, I want to, but I want to wait until I'm married." I look up at him. "And don't go thinking it's because I was brought up that way, it is, but it is my choice to do what I'd like to do with my body."

"Why you choose to wait?" Sherlock was being so nosy and curious. "After all, this is the 21st century. It doesn't need to be imposed on you."

"It's not an imposition, it's a gift Sherlock, and I can only be a virgin once. Why would I waste it on someone who'd probably dump me? I'd just like the man I married to know that he was worth the wait."

"Or, could it be that you're afraid?" Sherlock questioned. "There's no need to feel inhibited by-

"Sherlock?" I demanded as I stomped up to him. "Why are you questioning me about my sexual activity? It is none of your business? Why should you are?"

He glanced down at me, unblinking. "I think it should be obvious."

I'm silent for a moment before shaking my head as the only possible solution presented itself in my head. "Oh no Sherlock. I am not sleeping with _any _man to help you with a case! Sorry!"

He looked confused. "Why would I want you to sleep with other men?"

"To help you with a case," I threw up my hands in the air. "I know for a fact that _you're _not interested in sleeping with me-

"Well," he shrugged. "you could be wrong."

"Because you don't go in for those," words caught in my throat and choked me. I froze and turned towards him, tension spreading through my fingers. I looked at him as he stood there, studying me intently. "sort of….Sherlock Holmes…if you're teasing me…this isn't funny!"

"I'm not teasing." He stated. "I've actually been thinking about it," I flushed an even darker shade of crimson. "and you as a matter since my trip to and from Belarus."

"What are we doing?"

"We're having one of those indeterminable, reasonable conversations about the relationship between a man and a woman. One, would not be jealous, the other would understand enjoyment taken in the relationship of a third partner. Nothing was permanent, nothing was more than relevant. Sex, is a private business, sex is a clinical matter, and contraception has removed the need for unorthodox family life.

I inhale and asked. "If you can say….all that in one breath then explain to me. How, or….why would you even want to," I almost swallowed my tongue and asked. "have…sex with me?"

"Because, if we're going to have a relationship," he explained calmly. "I need to know exactly how far I'm allowed to go with you without getting smacked or anything." He smirked slightly at me. "You're so violent at times."

I could only shake my head in astonishment. "Relationship? Sherlock…since when are we in a relationship? We….hate each other."

"Do we really?" He questioned as he stepped towards me, his gaze penetrating right down into the trembling heart of me. "I saw your face light up when you saw me, I felt that you didn't want to let me go when I embraced you." he reached up and touched my cheek, causing me to tremble. "And even now….my touch causes you to tremble." He nods his head, leaning closer as my heart pounds madly in my chest. "Yes…and I wonder…how you'd react, if I kissed you."

I didn't get a chance to respond to his statement, for his lips were upon mine. As one would imagine, I was stunned and yet depressingly happy in this moment, if that were even possible for me to explain.

Sherlock guided my hands to his shoulders and I wrapped my arms around his neck. This kiss was different. There was no fighting of the obvious emotions between us. Sherlock had initiated the kiss. He actually cared enough about me to actually want the kiss. His hand was still on my chin, allowing me to lean into the kiss while his other hand rested on my waist, gently pressing me closer to him and yet deeper into the couch. I fear I lost all track of time in this moment.

I gasped as he broke the kiss. It was a simple kiss, beautiful and I blush to admit that it left me aching for more. I shook my head, to realize that I was gripping onto his shoulders tightly. Truth to be told, at this point I was almost afraid to let him go, for fear this moment should end. Sherlock looked down at me, his face still dangerously close to mine. He was studying me very closely.

"Any questions?" he asked me.

The sound of a siren brought me back to earth. I pulled away from him, stumbled to the window, minding the broken glass and looked out it. My blood ran cold at the sight of the building that was in shambles. "Oh good Lord, there are people injured out there and we're talking about….never mind what we were talking about!"

"Tammy," he asked me firmly, forcing me to look at him. He walked towards me. "you never asked me any questions. However, I've one for you. Are you going to engage in a relationship with me?"

I bit my lip and nodded as he pulled me into his chest. "Indeed, I am." I pushed him away. "But we've got to discuss this another time, there are people hurt and now is not the time." He nodded his head absent mindedly as I moved towards the door. "And no sex?"

"Why on earth not?"

"Because I said so! End of story!"

* * *

**Before I forget, I'm giving a shout out to 'A violent love, a torturing love' by KendraPendragon. It's a Star Trek 2009 and a Sherlock crossover! Kahn, is Sherlock and Mycroft's younger brother. Kahn, kidnaps Sherlock's fiancée, Molly and sets of a chain of events, especially when Kahn and Molly begin to develop feelings for each other. It can be found among my favorite stories.**


	17. Alternate First Kiss: Take 4

**What if Molly hadn't been the one to give Sherlock the present? What if it had been Tammy?**

* * *

Alternate kiss: take 4

* * *

I loved Christmas! It was the most wonderful time of year! But I was plagued with coughs as the temperatures dropped. I'd come back from the club to find that Mrs. Hudson had a fire going in my fireplace and the heat was turned up for me. I was looking forward to this Christmas so much. I hadn't had Christmas as a family since my mother passed and father only bought me presents and we stayed at home. It wasn't very special, but this year, it was different for me.

Sherlock had been gracious enough to let everyone meet in his apartment. I put up the decorations the night before Christmas so it wouldn't interfere with Sherlock's odd habits. I even got him to help me decorate the tree and hang lights. John made fun of us by playing Billy Joel's 'She's always a woman' and Sherlock actually said that the song matched my personality since it was ever changing. If I weren't so busy, I would have argued with him. But it was Christmas Eve and I wasn't going to argue with Sherlock.

"Hello everyone!" I called as I entered the flat with my two bags of presents. "I am so sorry I'm late. It's been a crazy day." Sherlock stood up and walked over towards me. "Merry Christmas."

"I'll take your coat." He said.

I smiled brightly. "Thank you." Lestrade and John were trying not to stare at the exchange between us. There was another woman, who I wasn't familiar with. She was wearing an attractive black dress. Her hair was down, her makeup was a little flirty and she was a very lovely looking girl.

"You look fine." Sherlock murmured behind me, causing me to jump slightly.

"Thank you." I complimented him back with an arched brow. "You're looking very debonair yourself tonight."

"How come you always say that Tammy looks fine?" John asked. "She looks beautiful."

"Thank you John. But it's really just the dress."

"That's a beautiful dress." Mrs. Hudson said as she observed my sleeveless white dress. "Very Christmassy."

"Thank you Mrs. Hudson," I walked over to her and hugged her, after setting my bag of presents down. It was white, knee-length with a holly print. The neckline dipped slightly in the front and my arms were bare. I'd let my hair down and applied a deep red lipstick. I felt pretty and for once, I felt as if I looked pretty. "you look lovely too."

"Thank you, my dear."

I glanced at Sherlock to see that he'd retreated to his laptop. I rolled my eyes. Christmas day and he still was attached to a laptop. I turned to the woman who was eyeing me rather shyly. "I'm Tammy Taylor; I don't believe I know you."

She shook my hand demurely. I observed that she seemed a little shy and ill at ease in her new dress. I recognized the scent of new material and noted that she must have just bought this dress. "I'm Molly Hooper."

"Oh!" I said. "Sherlock's pathologist. It's a pleasure to meet you at last."

Her face brightened a little. "He's mentioned me?"

"Actually," I said gently. "I'm sorry to say that I've read about you in John's blog."

"And…what is your connection to Sherlock?" Molly asked. "He's never mentioned you either."

"Oh, I'm just his," I frown. "I'm not sure what I am. You could say friend, but he doesn't have one. I could say housekeeper, but he insists that Mrs. Hudson is, in spite of all her protests. So….I guess you could say that I'm just the fly in his ointment."

"John," Sherlock says testily. "come here for a minute." I try to focus on molly, but Sherlock's voice is still catching my ear. "The counter on your blog: still says 1,895."

John groans dramatically. "Ooh, no! Christmas is cancelled!"

I chuckle quietly and Molly smiles, she's obviously listening into their conversation as well. Sherlock suddenly snaps out. "You've got a photograph of me wearing that hat!?"

I can't hold back a laugh and it seeps out loudly. Sherlock glowers at me and I just smile innocently at him as John walks away from him, stating the obvious truth to Sherlock that he simply refuses to acknowledge. "People like the hat."

Sherlock states his opinion. "No they don't." Immediately, his tone changes to a question. "What people?"

John ignores him as Molly turns to Mrs. Hudson. "How's the hip?"

"Ooh, it's atrocious, but thanks for asking."

"I've seen much worse, but then I do post-mortems." Everyone looks at molly silently; I'm the only one who chuckles at molly's ill attempt at a joke. Molly is still slightly embarrassed. "Oh, God. Sorry."

Sherlock turns towards her. "Don't make jokes, Molly."

"No." molly whispers. "Sorry."

I shake my head. "Don't listen to him. It _could _be a very good joke molly, with a little more polishing."

Sherlock exhaled. "It wasn't even funny."

"You laugh at crime scenes and don't even bother smiling at a really funny joke." I point out. "So I don't think you're a reliable source to know anything about humor."

Sherlock glowers at me and looks back to his laptop. Molly smiles gratefully at me and turns to Lestrade as he hands her a glass of red wine. "Thank you. I wasn't expecting to see you here. I thought you were going to be in Dorset for Christmas."

"That's first thing in the morning." He explains with a smile on his face. "Me and the wife, we're back together, it's all sorted."

"No, she's sleeping with the P.E teacher." Sherlock said.

"Shut up Sherlock." I warn him as I turned to Lestrade, who looked crushed. "Ignore him," I added in a lowered voice. "he's just upset that he's not the center of attention."

Greg chuckles tightly and looked at me with a look that told me he believed Sherlock. I knew Sherlock was right, but he didn't need to ruin Greg's Christmas. "Do you want something drink?"

I nod. "Yes, a light wine if they've got one out."

He nods and moves towards the drink table. Molly turns to John who is sitting on the arm of his armchair, with Jeanette in the chair. "And John. I hear you're off to your sister's, is that right?"

John nods. "Yeah."

"Sherlock was complaining." Sherlock raises his eyebrows indignantly at her and Molly immediately corrects herself. "saying."

"No, he wasn't saying." I state matter-of-factly. "He _was _complaining."

"First time ever, she's cleaned up her act." John raises his bottle in a salute. "She's off the booze."

"Nope." Sherlock whispers.

"Shut up, Sherlock." John snaps at him.

"I see you've got a new boyfriend, Tammy," I do a double take at the irritation in his voice. "and you're serious about him."

"Sorry," I blink rapidly and stare at him in shock. "what?"

"In fact, you're seeing him this very night and giving him a gift." He looks at me and I if didn't know any better, I'd say he was angry.

"Take a day off." John says, exasperation in his voice.

Lestrade hands me my glass and sets one on the table by Sherlock. "Shut up and have a drink."

I shake my head. "I don't-

Sherlock cuts me off. "Oh, come on! Surely you've all seen the present at the top of the bag, perfectly wrapped with a bow." My eyes bulged. That's _his _present. Why would he think my present to him would belong to a boyfriend? "All the others are slapdash at best."

He stands, walks towards the bag, and pushes past Molly. Looking down at the other presents, I do suddenly seem to notice that they aren't as carefully wrapped as his. But then, it was for Sherlock, and I wasn't going to have him nitpicking my wrapping. And now, here he was doing it anyway.

"It's for someone special, then." He picks up his present as my face turns red. "The shade of red echoes her lipstick," I bite my lip as heaven help me, his deductions started to make sense to me! "either an unconscious association or one that she's deliberately trying to encourage. Either way, Miss Taylor has loovve on her mind."

I gasp and choke out. "Sherlock, please-

But he's on a roll and he won't shut up. "The fact that she's serious about him is clear from the fact she's giving him a gift at all." I squirm as tears threaten to fill my eyes. Everyone, like me, is just stunned at him in horrified silence. "That would suggest long-term hopes, however forlorn; and that she's seeing him tonight is evident from her make-up and what she's wearing." I look down at my clothes, they're nothing like I haven't worn before. They weren't overly sexy, nor was my lipstick a blazing red like the shade I wore during the shows. He smiles smugly at John and Jeanette; he starts to open the card that would reveal that the gift in his hand was his present. "Obviously trying to compensate for the size of her mouth and breastsss-

Sherlock's voice dies as he realizes that my present is for him. I stand there, hurt and embarrassment flowing over me. He'd hurt, humiliated and criticized me in a room full of people. I remembered his statement about my mouth and breasts. In the year I'd known him, he'd never criticized my body. In fact, no one had ever stated that my body was inadequate in any way at all.

I inhale raggedly, as I grab my scarf, which Sherlock had slung over the back of the couch. I throw it over my shoulders, gathering it around my chest, wanting to hide my body from his gaze. I shake my head as I fight to keep the hurt out of my voice, but I fail miserably. "Merry Christmas Sherlock. I hope you….enjoy your present."

My voice cracked and I couldn't stand the humiliation anymore. I turned and bolted for the door, thankfully it was open. I ran down the hall, desperate to make it to the stairs and out the front door before Sherlock knew what hit him. Unfortunately, for me, he caught me on the second step.

"Sherlock," John said firmly. "let her go now."

"You hurt her enough, mate!" Lestrade said in agreement with John.

Sherlock ignored them. I looked down at my feet, refusing to look up at him as he turned me towards him. "Tammy?" I refused to acknowledge him. He reached out and touched my cheek; I didn't hesitate in slapping his hand. Sherlock looked at me and blinked before gripping my other hand in his. "I deserved that."

"Let…me go." I demanded as I avoided his gaze.

"In a moment."

"Now!"

"I am sorry." He said sincerely, but his apology refused to move me completely. "Forgive me."

I shook my head. "No."

"Why on earth not?"

The confusion in his voice aggravated me. I looked up at him and my hurt was evident in my face. "Why should I forgive you?"

"Because I said I was sorry."

"For what?" I demanded. "Do you have any idea what you did? You speculated, incorrectly that I have a boyfriend, which I don't." Words begin to spew out of my mouth. "You humiliated me in front of everybody with your accusations. And then on top of it, you _dare _to criticize my body?!" Tears leak down my cheeks as I shriek. "What's wrong with my mouth and breasts!?"

I can't believe I shouted those words aloud and the blood drains from my face. But before I can react, Sherlock speaks and his words shock me into silence. "You're beautiful," I look up at him in amazement as he leans forward. "your body is perfect."

I can only look at him as he goes to kiss me on my cheek, or, so I'd assumed until Sherlock kissed me on my mouth. I stood there, momentarily stunned by the sudden rush of emotions that were swallowing me. Sherlock smiled against my mouth, enjoying this moment as he moved his lips experimentally against mine, nipping my lips gently, tasting my mouth. I shifted closer to him, only to have him grip my hips and pull me against him. I smiled as I wrapped my arms around his waist.

When Sherlock ran his tongue over my lips, causing me to jump and pull away, breaking the kiss. As we stood there, still overwhelmed by this sense of recognition, his actions dawned on me. I now knew why he'd been so angry and cruel to me. I studied him for a moment before stating. "You…were jealous."

He shrugged without looking me completely in the eye. "A bit."

"Admit it!" I demand quietly. "Or I won't forgive you."

"Fine. I was jealous." I chuckle at his admittance to me. He runs a thumb under my eye, wiping away the tears. "Am I forgiven?"

I nod slowly and he smiles as I keep my hands on his waist. "One more question." He nodded as I asked. "Why….would you be jealous if I had someone else?"

He groaned. "Don't make me answer that in front of everyone."

I lean forward. "Then…whisper it in my ear."

He inhaled and leaned forward and whispered in my ear. "I want you."

My face flushes happily as I lean forward and whisper in his ear. "I want you too."

He pulls away and looks down at me. "Really?"

"Yes." I kiss him gently on his nose. "Merry Christmas Sherlock."

"Merry Christmas…Tammy."


	18. Blind banker: Part one

**Now, in 'I won't send roses,' Tammy wasn't involved in 'The blind banker.' As a matter of fact, I had left out most of that particular episode out of the story. Now, I'm putting it in, with an alternative take.**

* * *

Blind banker: Part one

* * *

"Oh, God." I spin around at the sound of Sherlock's voice and I tap back a groan. It couldn't be him. But, my eyes told me that my ears hadn't deceived me. I exhale and look at John, who's standing behind Sherlock. Even after we'd solved that mystery together, Sherlock and I still hadn't been able to get along together

"Hello John," I say pointedly. "nice to see you." Sherlock groans in disgust at my ignoring him. "I didn't know we shared the same bank."

"Different accounts." Sherlock reminds me.

"What are you doing here?" I ask John. "Is this business or pleasure?"

John's eyes dart back and forth between us. "If…you think of the case, as pleasure, then it would be….pleasure."

My brow arches. "Another case? Fascinating."

Sherlock moves to nudge John through the revolving doors. "You'd find it dull."

To aggravate him I jump in behind the revolving door and follow him. "I'm curious now. I'll decide if it's dull." He groans. Frankly, it would be dull for me, but irritating Sherlock is so much fun and so easy to do without even putting in any effort to it.

We got on the escalator, I hated those things, always made me dizzy, and so I focused on the back of Sherlock's head. Unlike most people, the back of his head was interesting because it would never stop turning around and looking at every little thing going on around him. John got off the escalator first, then Sherlock and then me. I tripped on the last step; Sherlock spun around and righted me. I nodded my head gratefully at him as he gave me a once over before walking over to the reception desk.

"Sherlock Holmes."

The woman immediately directs us towards the office of a Mr. Sebastian Wilkes. He was late and he had us wait a few minutes before walking in with a grin on his face. "Sherlock Holmes."

"Sebastian." Sherlock's tone is neutral.

They shake hands, and Sebastian clasps Sherlock's hand in both of his own. "Howdy, buddy." At his use of 'howdy' I wonder if he's been in the States recently, possibly the western part. "How long's it been? Eight years since I last clapped eyes on you?"

Sherlock only looks back at him without even bothering to attempt to disguise his dislike for the man. Sebastian turns to look at John questioningly. "This is my friend, John Watson."

Sebastian, like myself, noted the rather emphasized use of the word. "Friend?"

John corrects him instantly. "Colleague."

"Right." They shake hands, Sebastian looking at John curiously. I shrug out of my coat, place it over my arm, and tug off my scarf. It's obvious that Sebastian thinks that Sherlock and John are partners, so, I shall throw a bit of a mixer in. "Right." He throws a brief look at Sherlock as if saying; _I didn't know you could make friends! _

Then, Sebastian looks at me and he pauses, running his eyes up and down me. I hold his gaze without blinking. I was wearing a red, dress suit underneath, with a striped shirt and red heels. The scarf and jacket had hidden it from all the men and now, all were looking at me. Even Sherlock, had given me the once over….twice. "See anything you like?" I question.

He grins at me. "Yes. Do you?"

I smile before imitating Sherlock. "Noo." John smirks as Sherlock glowers at me. I hold out my hand. "Tammy Taylor."

Sebastian shakes my hand, but doesn't release it right away. "Charmed. And you are…what exactly?"

I smirk as I pull my hand free. "That's what _everybody _wants to know, but won't know." I cross my arms. "Shall we get back to business?"

Sebastian grins and turns away. "Well, grab a pew. Do you need anything? Coffee, water?"

Sherlock and I shake our heads, John is the only courteous enough to reply. "No."

"No?" He looks at me. "You at least need a chair."

I shake my head. "Don't bother." I park myself on the edge of his desk. "I don't need a chair, I'm fine."

Sherlock glowers at me as Sebastian turns to his secretary, who's been watching all of us like a hawk since we've walked into the room. "We're all sorted here, thanks." As the secretary leaves the room, Sebastian sits down at his desk and the other two sit opposite him.

Sherlock sits in the chair nearest me; his eyes briefly glance at my legs as I cross them. I shoot him a glare and his head whips back towards Sebastian. "So, you're doing well. You've been abroad a lot."

Sebastian shrugs. "Well, some."

Sherlock is on his show off mode. "Flying all the way round the world twice in a month?"

John frowns in confusion. I expect Sebastian to be irritated, but he just laughs and points at Sherlock. "Right. You're doing that thing." He looks at me. "We were at uni together; this guy here had a trick he used to do."

" It's not a trick." Sherlock says quietly and pointedly.

"He could look at you and tell you your whole life story." He continues.

"Yes, I've seen him do it." I reply tightly. "But it's not a trick, it's a logical, sound, fairly obvious deduction….which I am still trying to figure out at the moment."

He laughs. "Put the wind up everybody. We hated him."

Sherlock turns his head away and looks down, his face momentarily filling with pain. That made me change my opinion of why Sherlock acted the way he did around people. I hated going to school, but I was an average person. It was difficult for me to imagine Sherlock as a child. But I can picture how difficult and awkward it would have been for him with his high intelligence and the way he couldn't help noticing everything.

I find myself, speaking up to his defense. "I am quite sure mistaken. In spite of Sherlock's rather moments, he can be quite charming at times."

At this point, all the men were looking at me as if I'd lost my mind and they were debating which man was going to be the one to pick it up and put it back in my head. Not a very good prospect. Sebastian, didn't seem to believe me though. "Him? Charming? You'd come down to breakfast in the Formal Hall and this freak would know you'd been shagging the previous night."

My head shoots up and I glower at him. I hate people who call names, but to when Sherlock gets called a freak, it irritated me beyond all belief. Sherlock points out quietly. "I simply observed."

Sebastian wasn't going to stop the goading though. "Go on, enlighten me. Two trips a month, flying all the way around the world, you're quite right. How could you tell?" Sherlock opens his mouth to explain but Sebastian interrupts him again. "You're gonna tell me there was, um, a stain on my tie from some special kind of ketchup you can only buy in Manhattan."

John smiles slightly as Sherlock shakes his head. "No, I -

Again, Sebastian talks over him. "Maybe it was the mud on my shoes!"

Sherlock simply looks back at him for a moment before speaking. I prepared to open my mouth to tell Sherlock not to cast his pearls before swine. "I was just chatting with your secretary outside." I look at Sherlock and smile proudly. Why did he need to tell someone like Sebastian the obvious? The man was odious! "She told me."

John frowns round at him, confused by such an 'ordinary' explanation. Sebastian laughs humorlessly and Sherlock smiles back at him with an equal lack of humor. For some stupid reason, on impulse, I leaned forward and planted a kiss on Sherlock's cheek. He didn't move, barely showed any reaction except to turn towards me. I said nothing, but held his gaze, allowing him to make his deductions.

Then, he smiled, slightly at me before turning back to Sebastian, whose face had taken a completely different look at the situation. Sebastian, finally, deciding to stop joking and trade his humor in for seriousness. "I'm glad you could make it over. We've had a break-in." He stands and we follow him across the trading floor towards another door. "Sir William's office, the bank's former Chairman. The room's been left here like a sort of memorial. Someone broke in late last night."

"What did they steal?" John asked.

"Nothing." I frown. "Just left a little message." He holds his security card against the reader by the door to unlock it. We enter the room and it's almost barren, devoid of furnishings, but then it was an office, not a home.

Hanging on the wall, behind a desk is a framed painted portrait of a man in a suit with a spray painted yellow graffiti tag. Sebastian leads the way towards the desk and then steps aside to allow Sherlock a clear view of the wall. John moves to stand on the other side of Sebastian, who looks at Sherlock, waiting for an immediate response. But Sherlock, playing the great detective stares in fixed concentration at the graffiti without even looking around.

I am bored and now rather wish I hadn't gotten involved. I followed behind Sherlock and John, listening as Sebastian shows the security footage of the office. "Sixty seconds apart. So, someone came up here in the middle of the night, splashed paint around, and then left within a minute."

Sherlock asks the next obvious question. "How many ways into that office?"

I yawn on cue and Sherlock shoots me a look. "Well," Sebastian says slowly. "that's where this gets really interesting."

"Hope so." Sherlock says as we follow Sebastian out of the office. "You're putting Tammy to sleep."

Back in the reception area, Sebastian shows us the layout of the trading floor and the surrounding offices. "Every door that opens in this bank, it gets logged right here. Every walk-in cupboard, every toilet."

Sherlock, then states the obvious. "That door didn't open last night."

"There's a hole in our security. Find it and we'll pay you, five figures." Sebastian  
reaches into the pocket of his jacket to reveal a check with a five-figure sum. "This is an advance. Tell me how he got in, there's a bigger one on its way."

Sherlock doesn't even look at the check. And when he speaks, he speaks as if he'd been handed Sebastian's dirty underwear. "I don't need an incentive, Sebastian."

He walks away and I follow him. I yawn again and Sherlock groans. "Sorry."

"I told you that you'd find it dull."

"I hate banks." I mutter. "And you're not making things much more cheerful."

"You left your coat and scarf in Sebastian's office." Sherlock points out. "Go and get it and put them on."

"Is that before or after you take a second look?" Sherlock stop and looks at me as if I were insane for suggesting that he showed a single emotion of being a man. I laugh and roll my eyes. "Don't bother denying it Sherlock."

"Denying what?"

I smirk and move towards the office. "You'll figure it out. Let me know when you do."


	19. Blind banker: Part two

Blind banker: part 2

* * *

Sherlock has returned to Sir William's office and is taking photographs of the graffiti on his mobile phone. Once he has taken several pictures he turns around, the symbols still floating in front of his mind's eye. He looks out the windows towards The Gherkin Tower. He frowns for a moment, looks away, then walks over to what I thought was a window, but is actually a door. He pulls up the blinds and steps out on to the balcony. I would have followed, but I HATE heights and I have no desire to let Sherlock know that I cannot stand them. He looks along the balcony, bites his lip thoughtfully for a moment before heading back inside.

As he closes the blinds, I wager a guess. "The person got in the room through the balcony."

He turns and looks at me for a second before concentrating on the task at his hands. "Yes."

"He some kind of Spiderman?"

"Possibly, something along those lines."

He turns and walks out of the room with me behind him. "I hate it when you say stuff like that, because at the end of the day it's going to be painfully obvious." Sherlock suddenly, ducks down behind a desk and rises slowly, staring at the glass doorway to Sir William's office. I chuckle, slightly embarrassed at all the eyes looking at him and I. "Please, say we're not playing hide and seek." I mutter.

He then ducks sideways and hurries across the floor, to the amusement of the other traders. One guy asks if my boyfriend is nuts as he passes me by, I stick out my foot, tripping him, causing his papers to scatter. Sherlock arches a brow at me as he continues to scamper around the floor. He hurries sideways and keeps ducking down behind desks before popping up again and peering at the doorway. He then backs into another office on the other side of the floor. Stopping in that doorway, he looks at the office again, steps around the room, before returning to his previous position. He then returns to the door, slides the top sign out of its holder and heads off.

I fall in alongside him and snatch the paper out of his hand. "Eddie Van Coon?"

He takes it back out of my hands. "Yes." He glances at me. "You left your coat and scarf in Sebastian's office. I suggest you get them before he considers hiding them and using some feeble excuse for you to come back and get them."

I roll my eyes. "As if I'd go out with that baboon."

Sherlock smirks before his face goes serious. "Why'd you kiss me?"

I decide not to answer that question outright. "You're the detective."

His arm shoots out in front me, hoping to stop me from entering the office. "I asked you a question, I'd like an answer."

"I gave you one. You're the detective," I ducked under his arm and continued walking. "you figure it out."

"I would have thought to get Sebastian to stop flirting with you, except, he wasn't at that moment."

I nod in agreement. "Agreed. Keep going."

"There is nothing else to go on. There was no other logical reason for you to do so. In fact, you did it after I told him that his secretary told me that he went around the world twice in a month."

I nod. "I did." Sherlock's hand shot out again, one gripped my waist. I exhale. "Fine Spock. I did it for several reasons." I kept my gaze forward, so as to keep it conversational. For some stupid reason, if I looked Sherlock dead in the eye, I'd start to stutter. "First, I was glad that you lied to him, if he was going to act like that, he didn't need to know the truth. Second, it knocked him for a loop. He obviously doesn't think you have _any _feelings or are capable of having any friends. I know, you don't have friends, but whether you like it or not, John and I are. I almost wanted Sebastian to lay off of you, his harassment was too much."

Sherlock's arm dropped and he stepped in front of me so he could study me better. "Why should you care?"

"I do Sherlock." I held his gaze. "I know he upset you."

He shook his head. "No he didn't."

I shook my head. "I'm not an idiot Sherlock, I saw your face when he said everyone hated you." that same look passed Sherlock's face again. I reached up and touched his cheek. "There you go again. I see you Sherlock."

"You know that feeling you get when you're about to solve a case, or the excitement that pulses through your body when you're about to catch the criminal?" he nods. "Those are emotions as well Sherlock. You have them, no matter how hard you deny it." he has no answer for me. I pull on my coat. "Come on, let's go find John."

Not long afterwards, Sherlock is leading John back towards the escalators. "Two trips around the world this month. You didn't ask his secretary; you said that just to irritate him." Sherlock smiles but doesn't respond. "How did you know?"

"Did you see his watch?" Sherlock asks.

John frowns. "His watch?"

"The time was right but the date was wrong. Said two days ago. Crossed the dateline twice but he didn't alter it."

"Within a month? How'd you get that part?"

"New Breitling." Sherlock points out. "Only came out this February."

I groan. "I knew it was going to be painfully obvious."

John shakes his head as he exhales. "Okay. So do you think we should sniff around here for a bit longer?"

"Got everything I need to know already, thanks." Sherlock states as he begins to explain everything that we missed. "That graffiti was a message for someone at the bank working on the trading floors. We find the intended recipient and-

He deliberately trails off, allowing John or I to finish the sentence. At my silence, John decides to rise to the occasion. "They'll lead us to the person who sent it."

"Obvious." Sherlock states, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, there's three hundred people up there." John points out. "Who was it meant for?"

"Pillars."

"What?" John and I both frown at the ludicrousness of that statement.

"Pillars and the screens." He repeats. "Very few places you can see that graffiti from. That narrows the field considerably. And of course, the message was left at eleven thirty-four last night. That tells us a lot."

"Does it?" John asks as I begin trying to unravel the riddle before Sherlock explains it to John.

Sherlock continues talking as we head through the revolving doors and back out onto the street. "Traders come to work at all hours. Some trade with Hong Kong in the middle of the night. That message was intended for someone who came in at midnight." He holds up the name card to show John. "Not many Van Coons in the phonebook." He then calls out loudly directly into my ear. "Taxi!"

I glower at him. "The ear is a sensitive instrument, in case you've forgotten."

"No, I haven't." He looks at me with a slight glower. "Will you put your jacket on?"

"No." The taxi driver pulls alongside the curb. I move towards the taxi. "I won't."

"You really shouldn't-

I turn and face Sherlock as I reach for the door. "Look, if my body is distracting you," his brow arches in surprise. "then look the other way!"

He frowns. "It is not distracting me."

"Then stop acting like it is!" I open the taxi door, get in and close it before Sherlock can get it. He glowers at me as he yanks the taxi door open. I smile innocently as I wrap my scarf around my neck. "Sorry."

He rolls his eyes and sits in the middle seat with a huff. "I prefer the window seat."

"So do I. tough!"

John exhales as he climbs into the taxi with us. "Can the two of you stop it with the arguing for one minute?"

Sherlock and I ask in unison. "Why?"

John shakes his head. "Forget it. Just…forget I even said it.

After a quiet and seemingly long taxi ride, we arrive at a block of flats. John paid for the cab as Sherlock moved up towards the front. He pressed the door buzzer marked 'Van Coon'. He waits exactly four seconds, then presses the buzzer again. There's still no response. "

So what do we do now?" John asks as he looks around. "Sit here and wait for him to come back?"

Sherlock has been inspecting the number of buzzers on the wall and steps back to look up the front of the building. He then moves back towards the buzzers and looks at John triumphantly. "Just moved in."

"What?" John asks.

"The floor above. New label." He points to another buzzer, which has a handwritten label saying, 'Wintle'.

"Could have just replaced it." John points out.

I shake my head as Sherlock presses that buzzer, then looks at John again. "No-one ever does that."

A woman's voice comes over the intercom. _Hello?_

Sherlock turns to the camera and smiles, putting on an 'I'm innocent and irresistible' tone and expression. "Hi! Um, I live in the flat just below you. I-I don't think we've met." He grins prettily into the camera, causing me to roll my eyes. I'm glad that I'm off to the side, otherwise the woman would be suspicious.

_No, well, uh, I've just moved in._

Sherlock turns to give John a brief 'I told you so' look, then turns back to the camera. "Actually, I've just locked my keys in my flat." He grimaces and bites his lip pathetically.

_Do you want me to buzz you in? _I frown and glower slightly. The woman sounds _excessively_ anxious to meet Sherlock, for my tastes.

"Yeah." Sherlock's tone changes. "And can I use your balcony?

_What? _She sounds surprised by Sherlock's request.

"The keys are on the balcony." He explains innocently. "And, I'd also like to thank my new neighbor who's graciously helped out of this situation, in person."

Now, she is _definitely _flustered. _Oh, uhm, ok. I'll, er um, buzz you in._

"Thanks." The door opens and Sherlock, John and I head in. "Step one."

I shake my head. "I was right, you can turn on the charm when you need to."

"Jealous?" he asks me, with a faint smirk in his voice.

"Of what?" I ask casually. "If you do get her to go out with you, make sure you get her to sign a waiver or something, so you can't be sued if anything goes wrong."

Sherlock offers no comment on that one. "John, you take Tammy to Van Coon's apartment, wait outside the door and I'll let you in."

John nods. "Right."

"Be careful." I say as we go separate ways.

Sherlock groans as he calls me. "Why are you always saying that?"

"Because, you're going to jump from one balcony to another. Don't break your neck or anything."

John chuckles as we move to the elevator. "He really is flattered though, in spite of his annoyance."

"Yeah, I know. But don't tell him that I know."

We chuckle in the privacy of the elevator before the door dings open. We wait a few minutes, then, we hear the door open and hear Sherlock walking around in the flat. However, when he doesn't come and open the door, John buzzes the flat.

"Sherlock? He asks. "Sherlock, are you okay?" there is still no response.

"Sherlock Holmes," I demand. "let us in now!"

No response. John rolls his eyes in exasperation. "Yeah, any time you feel like letting me in."

That's when we hear the door crash open. I jump slightly and ask. "Sherlock? Are you ok?" no answer. I groan and pull out my phone. "If you don't answer in five seconds, I am calling the police!"

I hear Sherlock groan and mutter in Latin under his breath. He yanks the door open and grins. "Eddie Van Coon has been murdered!" I smack his face and he blinks and stares at me. "What was that for?"

"He's dead!" I snap. "No need to sound so happy about it!"

* * *

**Sorry about the delay, things have been so busy on my end that I haven't had ANY time for myself. And if I did have the time, I wanted to finish up another fic that has been lapsing for almost a year and now I'm on the last chapter.**


	20. Blind banker: Part three

Blink banker: part three

* * *

Later, the police have been called and a photographer is taking pictures of Van Coon's body lying on the bed. A forensics officer is dusting for fingerprints on the nearby mirror, and distant voices suggest that other forensics officers are elsewhere in the flat. Sherlock has taken his coat off, put on a pair of latex gloves.

John stands beside him. "Do you think he'd lost a lot of money? I mean, suicide is pretty common among City boys."

Sherlock dismisses John's suggestion immediately. "We don't know that it was suicide."

"Come on." John points out. "The door was locked from the inside; you had to climb down the balcony."

Sherlock then squats down by a suitcase on the floor, near the bed, and begins to examine its contents. "Been away three days, judging by the laundry." He sees that there's a deep indentation in the clothing inside the case then straightens up and addresses John while I peer over his shoulder. "Look at the case. There was something tightly packed inside it."

"Thanks," John states, barely looking in Sherlock's direction. "I'll take your word for it."

Sherlock frowns, not understanding John's reluctance to look. "Problem?"

"Yeah, I'm not desperate to root around some bloke's dirty underwear."

I smirk as Sherlock looks from John, to me, then back to John again before walking back to the foot of the bed. I try not to realize that this is the ninth corpse I've been standing over since I met Sherlock Holmes a few months ago.

"Those symbols at the bank, the graffiti." Sherlock asks slowly. "Why were they put there?"

"What, some sort of code?"

"Obviously." Sherlock then examines Van Coon's legs, his shoes and then he begins to opens Van Coon's jacket to look at his inside pockets. "Why were they painted? If you want to communicate, why not use e-mail?"

"Well, maybe he wasn't answering." John states.

"Oh good. You follow."

John shakes his head. "No."

Sherlock throws him a look before moving on to examine Van Coon's hands. "What kind of a message would everyone try to avoid?"

"The kind of message that one doesn't want to get." I supply.

However, Sherlock has decided to shut me out so he addresses, John who is frowning in confusion. "What about this morning," he asks. "those letters you were looking at?"

"Bills."

I speak up. "But since Van Coon might have been possibly up to something, it'd be safe to assume that he was being threatened."

Sherlock gently pries Van Coon's mouth open and pulls out a small black origami flower from inside. I try not to shudder as the air hisses out from the dead man's lungs. "Yes." Sherlock whispers. "He was being threatened."

John looks closely at the paper flower as Sherlock lifts an evidence bag to put the flower into it. "Not by the gas board."

I hear another man's voice approaching the bedroom. "And see if you can get prints off this glass."

The man appears to be a plain clothed police officer walks into the bedroom. Sherlock turns and walks towards him. "Ah, Sergeant. We haven't met."

He offers his hand to the young man, who puts his hands on his hips, refusing Sherlock's hand. "Yeah, I know who you are," I exhale and roll my eyes in irritation. Sherlock's reputation was big and now people who hadn't even met him yet weren't going to give him the benefit of the doubt. "and I'd prefer it if you didn't tamper with any of the evidence."

Lowering his hand, Sherlock gives the evidence bag to the officer and subtly deduces him. "I've phoned Lestrade. Is he on his way?"

"He's busy. I'm in charge. And it's not Sergeant; it's Detective Inspector. Dimmock.

I look at the man, who's so young he looks like he should be going to college. I frown as I ask skeptically. "Really?"

Dimmock looks at me and Sherlock speaks up. "Ignore her." Dimmock turns and walks out of the room. We follow him into the living room as Dimmock hands the bag to one of the forensics team.

"We're obviously looking at a suicide." He states, even though he barely looked at the scene of the crime.

I glower as John agrees with Dimmock. "That does seem the only explanation of all the facts."

I snort as Sherlock takes his gloves off. "Wrong. It's one possible explanation of some of the facts." He turns to Dimmock. "You've got a solution that you like, but you're choosing to ignore anything you see that doesn't comply with it."

"Like?" Dimmock asks skeptically.

"The wound was on the right side of his head." he points out.

"And?"

"Van Coon was left-handed." I clap my hands with glee at the look on Dimmock's face. Sherlock then begins to demonstrate his point, pretending to try and point a gun to the right side of his head with his left hand. "Requires quite a bit of contortion."

I grin. "Highly, unlikely that he'd commit suicide."

"Left-handed?" Dimmock repeats in astounded disbelief.

Sherlock sneers somewhat sarcastically at Dimmock. "Oh, I'm amazed you didn't notice. All you have to do is look around this flat." He points to the table beside the sofa. "Coffee table on the left-hand side; coffee mug handle pointing to the left. Power sockets, habitually used the ones on the left. Pen and paper on the left-hand side of the phone because he picked it up with his right and took down messages with his left. Do you want me to go on?"

John shakes his head tiredly. "No, I think you've covered it."

"Oh, I might as well; I'm almost at the bottom of the list."

John nods as if to say, 'Yeah, I thought you might.' But I've noted one curious thing earlier and I speak up loudly. "The butter on the knife in the kitchen," Sherlock looks down at me indignantly. 'it's on the wrong side of the blade!"

"The right side of the blade because he used it with his left." He explains as he turns to Dimmock with an impatient look on his face. "It's highly unlikely that a left-handed man would shoot himself in the right side of his head. Conclusion, someone broke in here and murdered him. Only explanation of all the facts." Sherlock looks at me and demands. "How the hell did you know that about the butter?"

"I'm a right handed cook Sherlock and a woman. Did you really think that something unusual in the kitchen wouldn't jump out at me like that?"

"But the gun," Dimmock asks. "why-

Sherlock interrupts him, he's being rude, but I suspect he wants to put Dimmock in his place. "He was waiting for the killer. He'd been threatened." He walks away and starts to put on his scarf, coat and gloves.

"What?" Dimmock is surprised by this new piece of information and he begins to wonder how Sherlock would know this before he did.

"Today at the bank." John explained to Dimmock, taking pity on his confusion. "Sort of a warning."

"He fired a shot when his attacker came in." Sherlock explained.

"And the bullet?" Dimmock questioned, as no one had found another bullet in the room.

"Went through the open window."

"Oh, come on!" Dimmock didn't even attempt to keep the disbelief out of his voice. "What are the chances of that?!"

"Wait until you get the ballistics report. The bullet in his brain wasn't fired from his gun. I guarantee it."

Dimmock looks doubtful; I add my own two cents worth. "If you had a million pounds, I'd bet you that Sherlock Holmes was right and I'd make a million pounds easy."

He glowered at me asked. "But if his door was locked from the inside, how did the killer get in?"

Sherlock states condescendingly as he puts his hand into his glove. "Good! You're finally asking the right questions." He walks past me and grabs my arm. "You, come with me, now."

"Fine!" He turns and flounces out of the round. I roll my eyes as we exit the room. "You are such a drama queen." He rolls his eyes. "I know that genius needs an audience, but does a genius have to be so dramatic?"

"Look who's talking?" he looks down at me slightly curious. "And since when did you start attempting to be intelligent?"

I yank my arm away from him. "No one attempts to be intelligent Sherlock. Either you are or you aren't. it's not my fault you just noticed now that I'm intelligent."

"Illogical."

"_Highly _illogical, Spock."

He frowns. "Again, with the Spock character. I'll thank you not to refer to me as a ridiculous, out of space, juvenile character as him."

"Stop acting like him, then, I'll stop calling you that."

"I actually find your calling me an idiot, less annoying than Spock."

"Fine, then I'll call you an idiot."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

* * *

Sherlock somehow is able to find Sebastian having lunch with some clients of his. He's laughing loudly. Sherlock, John and I walk over to the table. Sherlock doesn't hesitate in butting into Sebastian's conversation. "It was a threat. That's what the graffiti meant."

"I'm kind of in a meeting." His tone suggesting that Sherlock get's out of his sight. "Can you make an appointment with my secretary?"

Sherlock inhales dramatically. "I don't think this can wait. Sorry, Sebastian. One of your traders, someone who worked in your office…was killed."

Sebastian's mouth drops open in surprise. "What?"

"Van Coon." John explains. "The police are at his flat."

The shock on Sebastian's face assures me that he knows absolutely nothing about Van Coon's death. "Killed?"

Sherlock sneers sarcastically. "Sorry to interfere with everyone's digestion. Still wanna make an appointment? Would, maybe, nine o'clock at Scotland Yard suit?"

Sebastian puts his glass of water down and nervously runs his finger inside his shirt collar. He stands up. "Come on, let's talk." I move to follow the group of men, but Sebastian stops and turns to me. "You wait here."

"Why?" I ask.

Sherlock exhales impatiently. "There are some places women aren't allowed."

I arch a brow at him. "Really?"

"The YMCA and the men's washroom are two places that come to mind." I nod as I finally comprehend their meaning. "Stay out here."

Sebastian nods. "Yeah. But please, order anything on me."

I arch a brow. "With pleasure." I remove my coat as I approach Sebastian's seat, all eyes watch me as I place my coat on the back of his chair before sitting down in it. to satisfy everyone's curiosity I speak. "Mr. Sebastian will be back as soon as he is done talking to Mr. Holmes and Mr. Watson. They won't be long."

"Right." The man sitting to my left asks. "Can we…get you anything?"

I shake my head as I pick up, inspect Sebastian's unused wine glass, and take a sip out of it. "No thanks, this will do me just fine."

"So, was he really killed?" another man asks in curiosity. "As in murdered?"

I nod and lean forward. "Yes, there's no doubt of it."

"Are the police sure?"

"The police idiotically believe that it was a suicide, but I assure you all," I add with a smirk. "that it was murder."

One man eyes me skeptically. "What makes the police right and you wrong?"

Fortunately, for me, he was holding his fork in his right hand, so I didn't have to guess whether he was right or left handed. "You're right-handed." I point out and he glances at his hand. "If you were going to commit suicide, with a gun, by blowing your brains out." he puts his fork down with a look of distaste. "Would I be correct in assuming that you'd shoot yourself in the right part of your head?"

He nods. "Yes."

"So, would it be logical to assume that you'd shoot yourself in the right side of your head?" all heads looked at me in curiosity. "Mr. Van Coon was left-handed, yet the wound was on the right side of his head." I now had everyone curious. I brought my hand up, and like Sherlock, began demonstrating how it was impossible to shoot yourself in the head. "See? It's completely idiotic to assume that it was a suicide."

He nodded. "Yes, I see what you mean. can you tell us more, or is it confidential?"

I shrug. "I don't think so, it shouldn't do any harm."

"Good. Because this sounds fascinating."


End file.
